/ 'I J 



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ADVICE I 



? 
TO <, 

) 



YOUNG MEN 



;. ON THEIR J" 

| j 

\ DUTIES AND CONDUCT IN LIFE. \ 

i 

S 

s ^ 

t, BY 

T. S. ARTHUR, 

|> AUTHOR OP "THE MAIDEN," "WIFE," AND "MOTHER." 



PHILADELPHIA : 
G. G. EYANS, PUBLISHER, | 

NO. 439 CHESTNUT STREET. 

1860. > 



. _ „ __ . ,j. 



Y - 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 

T. S. ARTHUR, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District 

of Pennsylvania. 






! •; 



PREFACE. 



This book is the result of an application \ 
to the writer to prepare a volume addressed \ 
to young men. In reflecting upon the sub- 
ject, after having agreed to write the book, \ 
it was assumed that there are two classes of 
young men — one made up of those who feel \ 
the force of good principles, and are in some > 
willingness to act from them, and the other \ 

s 

composed of such as are led mainly by their 
impulses, feelings, passions, and selfish in- 
terests. And it was also assumed that, as 
society looks to the former as her regenera- 
tors, and not to the latter, it would be most < 
useful to present such views of life as would \ 
help the former to see and feel the import- 
ance of their position, and the necessity 



5 ests it must benefit 



\ 4 PREFACE 

| there was for them to act from the highest 
\ principles. This volume is therefore ad- 
dressed to the thinking faculty, and seeks 
to lead young men to just conclusions, from 
< reflections upon what they are, and what 
j; are their duties in society, as integral parts 
of the common body. It is therefore a 
serious book, — or, it might be called a 
) thoughtful book, — and should be read in J 
\ a thoughtful spirit. To those who will j 
thus read it, it is believed that it will prove < 
deeply interesting ; and all whom it inter- 



Satisfied that those who read it as it should 
be read, cannot fail to have their good pur- ? 
poses strengthened, and their minds elevated \ 
into sounder views of life than usually pre- j 
vail in common society, the writer, having 
completed his task, dismisses it from his 
hands, and turns to the consideration of £ 

other matters that require his attention. 



CONTENTS. 



<\ Chapter Page 

? I. Preliminary Remarks 7 

? II. Man — his Origin, Nature, and Destiny 10 

III. The Age of Responsibility 19 

\, IV. A common Error op Young Men 26 

;> V. Friends and Associates 52 

r> VI. Improvement op the Mind 59 

\ VII. Self Education 67 

\ VIII. Accomplishments 80 

\ IX. Amusements 88 

X. Self-government 99 

XL Indolence and Want of Order 112 

s XII. Intimate Friendships 128 

\ XIII. Home 134 

\ XIV. Parents 138 

l XV. Sisters . 146 

{ XVI. Conduct among Men 151 

\ XVII. Courage 168 

5 



t^.^. 



6 . CONTENTS. 

Chapter Page 

XVIII. Religion 193 

XIX. Bad Habits 200 

XX. Health 214 

XXI. Entering int© Business 230 

XXII. Marriage 243 

XXIII. Conclusion..., 255 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN \ 

CHAPTER I. \ 

l PRELIMINARY REMARKS. \ 

\ ! 

< We solicit, in the beginning, the earnest < 

l attention of those for whom we write. We 



^ have a purpose in view, which cannot be clear- 

$ ly seen and appreciated, unless all that is said <, 

{ Vke understood and carefully considered. False <; 

s views of life prevail every where, and especially > t 

;' with those just attaining the age of moral ac- v ? 

s countability. The books that are written for <> 

£ the young, the oral precepts that fall from $ 

I the lips of age, too often give erroneous ideas \ 

;> of man's true nature and the end of his being. s 

\ There is too great a disposition to offer precepts \ 

jj what regard only temporal well-doing — to furnish \ 

£ the means by which wealth is acquired — to re- r \ 

gard mere natural life as of primary importance. < 

\ ftiace the days of the adage, " A penny saved is ;! 



8 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. < 

a penny gained, " our people seem to have for- I 

i gotten that there is something to be saved and \ 

? gained more precious than even gold or silver. jj 

> They seem to have forgotten that man has a I 
$ destiny beyond the attainment of mere wealth. \ 
s And, as the leading views held and practised \ 
£ upon by the majority of a whole people must j 
\ be transmitted to, and impressed upon, the minds i 

> of the young, and, in turn, influence their whole 5 

> lives, the natural consequence is, that a large 

£ proportion of our young men, as soon as they s 

£ begin to think and act for themselves, seem to \ 

i have all ideas and ends merged in the one great J 

\ pursuit of wealth for its own sake. § 

The time seems to have arrived for a clear 

£ and strong presentation of the real truth on this 5 

j> important subject. Whether the writer of this s 

s volume has the ability to do so, or not, will ap- j! 

< pear in the sequel. In pursuing his task, his s 
J object will be to make his readers not only think < 
j; with him, but to furnish them with leading truths £ 
i that will cause them to think for themselves, and i 
I decide for themselves, in all the varied relations \ 

< of life in which circumstances may place them. ;! 
s Mere precepts for the young are of little use ; < 
j they are rarely, if ever, regarded ; and it is <j 
? because they do not appeal to the mind's rea- 
soning faculty. They are but abstract enunci- \ 




PRELIMINARY REMARKS. 9 ) 

? 
} 

ations, that come not into the mind as parts of \ 

its own conclusions. What is essential is, that j 

a whole idea of life should be imparted, and the > 

young man made to feel that the correctness of ? 

the great result — when the problem is, at last, 5 

worked out — will depend as much upon the s 

wisdom of his actions at the outset of life as at < 

any other period, — nay, more so; for the nearer \ 

to the beginning of a problem the error lies, the > 

farther will the final result be from the truth. ? 

Thus much briefly premised, we shall begin s 

at the beginning, and, first of all, speak of man's s 

origin, nature, and destiny. Without a correct \ 

knowledge of these, life-precepts are as likely to \ 

be wrong as right, and man is upon the surface \ 

of a vast ocean, without helm, chart, or compass. \ 

This portion of our work need not be dry and \ 

uninteresting : we are sure it will not be so to \ 

any who are in a state of mind to derive benefit s 

from a book written for young men. We espe- jj 

cially ask for it a thoughtful perusal. J; 



i 

10 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

S 



\ 

; CHAPTER II. 



I 



S MAN HIS ORIGIN, NATURE, AND DESTINY. 

? The importance of the precept, u Man, know 

5 thyself," has been felt and acknowledged in all 

ages, and among all enlightened nations. To 
\ know ourselves truly, requires not only the Scan- 
ia ning of our motives and ends of life, but a more 
^ general knowledge of what we are as men. On 
\ the subject of man's origin, nature, and destiny, 
\ there is a great contrariety of opinions, even in \ 
\ the Christian world, nearly all of them more or 
less obscure and unsatisfactory to the rational 
thinker. Thousands of pages have been written 
on mental philosophy, the study of which have only \ 
tended to lead man deeper and deeper into the \ 
mazes of doubt and obscurity ; and system after \ 
i system has been adopted and rejected, until the \ 
'< human mind, turning from them all with hopeless- ;> 
«! ness, if not disgust, is again afloat upon the sea b 
of anxious inquiry. In this state of things, how S 
important is it that young men should receive as s 
truth only the truth, even if the portion be but I; 
small ! for truth, which nourishes the mind, as \ 



■<~-\/--r\.^.r\.-./- 



ORIGIN, NATURE, AND DESTINY OP MAN. 11 J 

food nourishes the body, can only give a healthy !> 

J maturity, while error, like bad food, destroys spir- J! 

? itual health, and gives to the spiritual body a 5 

i diminutive or distorted growth. j 

Deeply impressed with the importance of the Jj 

s statement just made, we shall seek earnestly to \ 

< guard our work against any false views of man \ 
or his duties in life, and to make all that we \ 

j do say as comprehensive as possible. ^ 

\ First, then, as to man's origin. The Lord, \ 

\ who is essential and infinite Love and Wisdom \ 

> created man a likeness and image of himself, not \ 

for his own glory, but in order to make beings i 

J who could be happy out of himself. To do this ^ 

s was the impulse of divine Love, and by divine ;• 

< Wisdom the work was done. But it would have \ 
\ been impossible for man to have been a likeness < 
'I and image of his Creator, unless he were given . <; 

rationality and freedom ; and with these, as es- !; 

6ential to their existence, came the appearance i\ 

that he had life in himself, although the real i 

truth was, he was only a spiritually-organized s 

form, receptive of life. The two constituents of s 

his mind were will and understanding, by which <j 

he became a recipient of love and wisdom from ^ 

the Lord ; his will being the receptacle of love, ? 

and his understanding the receptacle of wisdom jj 

and from these two constituents, and these alone £ 



12 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN 

he was man, or an image and likeness of hia 
Creator. 

In this golden age of man's existence, all the 
powers of his mind were in beautiful order, and 
moved together in perfect harmony. The arTeo 



<; tions of his will prompted his understanding to { 

i the conception of true thoughts, and thus the \ 

purposes of his mind were brought forth into 
action without obstruction ; for good desires 
were in his will, and true thoughts met them in 
his understanding, and by both all his life was 
governed. His face was the index of his mind 
— the tablet upon which all he felt and thought 
was written ; and we have good reason to be- 

? lieve that he had no need of oral speech for the 

conveyance of his ideas, but found language 

J dumb in comparison to the wonderful play of the ;; 

innumerable muscles of his face and lips, which 
were in perfect correspondence with all his < 

feelings and thoughts, and gave to them a full s 

and beautiful utterance ; his eye, the perfect 
mirror of his mind, at a single glance sealing 
his lips into silence. 

This was man's first state, when he came per- 
feet from the hand of his Creator. He had 
rationality and freedom, without which he could 
not have been a man ; his freedom consisted in 
his ability to act as if from himself, under the ) 

\ \ 



ORIGIN, NATURE, AND DESTINY OF MAN. 13 

appearance that he had life in himself; while, 
from reason, he understood and acknowledged 
that his ability to act was from the Lord, his 
Creator, and that he had not life in himself, but 
was only a form receptive of life. Of course 
in this state he looked upwards in the grate 
*iil acknowledgment of the source whence he 
derived life and happiness, and it was the wilt 
of his Creator that in this acknowledgment he 
should ever live; not that he might receive 
glory — for no act of man's could add to hit 
glory — but because such an acknowledgmen 
was absolutely essential to man's happiness; foi 
it was the first and highest truth regarding hi? 
existence. 

From this view, we may easily see man's 
danger — the danger of resting in the appear 
ance as a reality ; of believing that he really 



i 



) had life in himself, instead of being merely a < 

\ recipient of life; of turning himself from the i 

I Lord to self; and of finally believing himself to \ 

I be as God, knowing good from evil. The result ? 

of such a fatal error would be, that man, believ- i 

ing thus of himself, would be inclined to love I 

himself, and think lightly of his fellow-man. I 

He would seek his own good, as an end, without < 

c reference to the good of his neighbor ; and this \ 

would quickly produce opposing interests, and .; 



14 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

lead on to hatred of all who stood in the waj ol 

\ the attainment of his ends. And such, alas ! 

was the case ; and man declined, by a steady and 
sure progression, until he lost almost entirely 
that likeness and image of the Lord in which 
he was created, and became a likeness and iin- 

\ age of hell ; or, in other words, of all self-love 

\ and evil. 

5 As age after age passed away, during this 

melancholy declension, the spirits of evil men 
left their natural bodies, and, unchanged in 

i nature, met together and associated, according 

to affinities of evil, in the spiritual world ; 
and this great congregation of evil spirits is 
known as hell. The mere laying off of their 

\ material bodies, by which they had acted in the 

\ material world, changed in no way their nature 

and ends. While on the earth, they took delight 
in evil instead of good, and this delight still ruled 
them, and led them to tempt and seduce from 
good the yet imbodied spirits of man whenever 
they could get access to them ; nay, more, their 

s intrusions became at length so great, that even 

■' the bodies of men were "possessed with devils," 

and the whole race of mankind was so exposed 
to their infernal influences, that it was on the 

? eve of perishing. 

In this " fulness of time," when man was just 






*t ORIGIN, NATURE, AND DESTINY OP MAN. 15 \ 

about extinguishing in him every good that he \ 

X had received at his creation, ana on the eve of s 

perishing in consequence, the Lord himself — \ 

\ " The mighty God, the everlasting Father, the s J 

j; Prince of Peace" — assumed human nature § 

'<) through a woman, and came down into the con- j 

sciousness of man in his lowest estate of evil, ^ 

i and received in himself all the assaults or s 

p i 

;> temptations of hell that could be made upon \ 

\ those states, and by his own divine power con- \ 

■> quered the evil, and remanded the spirits of \ 

\ darkness to their own gloomy abodes. Thus he i 

£ became able to save man; for, assuming a body \ 

of flesh and blood, and coming even to the low \ 

perceptions of his senses, he could thus take i 

hold of something in him, and lift him out of the < 

deep into which he had fallen. He could save J 

man in temptation, for he had been tempted '<; 
himself in every point, but without sin. The 

redemption he wrought was perfect; for, in the i t 

fallen nature he had assumed, through a human ;> 

mother, was the form of every evil that had £ 

ruled in the breast of man since his fall; and \ 

into these forms came an influx of evils from \ 

hell, or, rather, temptations to evil, which were j 

resisted and overcome. Thus the Lord came jj 
into the consciousness of every temptation to evil 
by which any man, in all coming time, could b<* 



|> 16 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. j 

\ assailed, and conquered in that temptation, so J 
J that he can now save all men who look to him 

for aid, no matter how low they may have fallen. > 

At the coming of the Lord, men had reached j> 

*t the lowest point in the segment of a circle whose ^ 

s ends were in heaven ; and since that time there ? 

\ has been a slow but sure return ; and this ad- \ 

\ j vancement must be permanent; for man now \ 

rises from the sensual into the scientific and 
\ rational, and finally becomes spiritual and celes- 

\ tial, and cannot again be deceived by appear- ( s 
s ances. Whereas, in his creation, he was formed 

\ a celestial man, and, when he descended into the \ 

\ sensual region of his mind, was in danger of \ 

resting there, as was finally the case, and believ- J 

ing that his earth was fixed and permanent, \ 

while the sun was ever changing its place, and \ 

revolving around his little centre. \ 

Thus, in speaking of man's origin, we have J 

embraced also a view of his nature and destiny, \ 

which every thoughtful reader will comprehend. \ 

' The destiny of mankind, it is clear, is a return \ 

to heavenly order and true happiness. Thus it } 

is of the first importance that all should under- J 

stand, and at the same time be made to feel, that ; 

each individual owes a debt to the human race j 

which he is bound, by the gravest consideration, I 
to pay. That this is so, a few words will make 

plain. i 



S ORIGIN, NATURE, AND DESTINY OF MAN. 1 / \ 

Man's declension was slow, and consisted in ;j 

? a gradual perversion of the good principles im- j 

planted in him by nature ; in other words, the «; 

love of the Lord and the neighbor was by de- ) 

grees supplanted by a love of self and the world, i 

\ until the latter held dominion in the human ) 

<> mind. This progress was hereditary. What ] s 

the parents confirmed in their own minds was < 

transmitted to their offspring, and these, confirm- < 

< ing the tendencies to evil which they received \ 
I by actual life, transmitted them, with increased l cj 
£ direfulness, to their children. 5 

Now, man's return must be along the same \> 
path by which he was led so far away into the * \ 

wilderness of sin and misery. And, therefore, \ 

only so far as he contends with and overcomes < 

the hereditary tendencies of his nature to evil, ? 

< does he thus return, or can he give his children > 
i the power, from him, of returning. Every evil J 
\ propensity that a man fights against and over- \ 
\ comes, instead of indulging, he weakens, and \ 

this he transmits with diminished power to his \ 

children ; and every good principle that he acts { 

\ from and confirms, he transmits with increased \ 

power to his children. From this it may be j 

seen how great a debt man owes to the human \ 

S race, and how he is bound by the gravest con 

i siderations to pay that debt. \ 

i 2 I 



18 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

\ 

In this struggle for the regeneration of the 
human mind, it is essential to understand how it 
is conducted. It has been already stated that 
man, when in the order of his creation, had a I 

will and understanding that acted in unison : <; 

what his will desired his understanding brought 
forth. But since man lost the true likeness and 
image into which he was created, his under- j> 

standing and will have not been in harmony. s 

Man's will is utterly perverted ; it can never be 
regenerated; but his understanding still retains J 

the power of elevation into even the light of 
heaven. He has yet the faculty of understand- 
ing truth when presented to his mind, and, from [> 
this truth, of perceiving its corresponding good. 
And he is still held in sufficient freedom to 
choose the good thus presented, and to force 
himself to act from the truth by which it was \ 
made apparent to his mind. In this way, a new £ 
will can be gradually formed in the intellectual 
region of his mind, while the old will, which can \ 
never be regenerated, will be laid, with all its \ 
evil promptings, into eternal quiescence, and t 
thus man be restored to something of his pris- ? 
tine order. \ 



\ Thus much by way of fixing the basis upon 

\ which our work is to stand. As we stated in 

J the outset, we have a purpose in view in writing 



THE AGE OF RESPONSIBILITY. 19 t 

his book, and these brief preliminaries were 
necessary to a full comprehension of the princi- 
ples we wish to lay down for the g-overnment of 5 
a young man's conduct in life, in the various «j 
relations he may be called upon to sustain. i 
Our object is, to make him feel that he does not 
stand alone in the world, and therefore should \ 
never permit himself to act from purely selfish 5 
principles. The reason we have endeavored to > 
explain, clearly enough, we think, for the com- > 
prehension of every one. 5 



CHAPTER III. 



THE AGE OP RESPONSIBILITY. 



> Up to the age of twenty-one years, or to that 

period when a young man is free from the con- > 

trol of his parents, guardian, or master, his ra- b 

I tional mind is not fully developed. He acts s 

from others more than from himself, and others I 

i are responsible, to a very great extent, for his $ 

actions. But when he becomes a full-grown i 

man, when both mind and body have attained 1 

sufficient maturity co enable him to *hink and ? 



20 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. > 



act wisely and efficiently for himself, then he 
takes the reins of government into his own 
hands, and becomes entirely responsible for his 
actions, both as regards human and divine laws. 
This is the most important period in his whole 
life ; for the consequences of an error here are 
felt at every subsequent stage of existence. 

A serious consideration this, and one that 
ought to press, with no ordinary weight, upon 
the mind of every young man; and the more 
especially so when the undeniable fact is an- 
nounced to him, that scarcely one in ten fail, at 
this period of their lives, to fall into some error 
that entails upon after life more or less of dis- 
ability and unhappiness. 

Calm and sober reflection, and not thoughtless 
self-indulgence, should distinguish every young 
man at this time. The destiny of an immortal 
being, created in the likeness and image of God, 
is in his hands. Through the intricate mazes of 
life, by his own wisdom and prudence, — enlight- 
ened, it is true, from above, if he will but look up, 
— he must guide this being either to a sun-bright 
haven at last, or to destruction upon the gloomy 
shores of despair and misery. Considerations 
like these are, surely, enough to make the most 
thoughtless pause, and regard with prudent 
caution every footfall in the way of life. But 



THE AGE OF RESPONSIBILITY. 21 



: 



) reflection and prudence need not bring gloom, 

J but cheerful confidence. When a man opens 

> his eyes, and sees that, in a path he was about to 
§ walk in with heedless steps, there are innumera- 
i ble dangers, and wisely chooses a better and a 
J safer way, he has cause for emotions of delight, 
s rather than depression. And such is the result 
<5 with every young man who, when just entering \ 
\ upon a life of freedom and responsibility, wisely J 

> reflects, and shuns all the allurements of false jj 
y pleasures, and the excesses into which all, at this s 
;> period, are tempted to run. \ 
\ A common error into which very many fall at s ' 
< this period, is the belief that they may run into > } 
i various excesses, and indulge themselves inordi- > 
<| nately in sensual pleasures for a few years, or ;> 
\ during the brighter days of their early spring- 
time, and, after that, assume the more important 

;> and real business of life. This is a most dan- 

l gerous error, and for the reason that it is an 

> immutable law of order in the human mind, that 
t all which precedes in a man's life goes to make 
\ up his character in all its subsequent formations. 
\ This can only be seen by those who understand 
£ something about the real nature of man, as 
'] a spiritually-organized being. To those who 
I think superficially, and only from appearances, 
s the idea of substance and form appertains only to 



U2 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

!> material things, and, so far as man is concerned, 

] to his body only. But the real truth is, man's \- 

J substantial part is his spirit, while his body is 

;; only a form, organized and built up from inert 

material particles, as a piece of beautiful ma- 
chinery, by which the true spiritual body can 
\ act in the material world It is this spiritual 

body which is the true man. The material eye, 
for instance, does not see. It, as matter, has 
no power of vision ; but it is a window through 
which the eye of the spirit can look out and see 
natural objects. The mere closing of this win- 
dow does not destroy the spiritual eye; it only 
takes away its medium of sight into the natural 
world. So of the ear, and so of all the exter 
jj nal senses ; they are but the avenues through 

\ which the senses of the spiritual body take cog- 

nizance of things in the outer and lower world 
of matter. The true sight of the spirit is its 
power to perceive truth, and its sense of hearing, ? 

\ its willingness to obey the truth so perceived. 

That this is so, all mankind have a common 
perception. For, when one attempts to present j 

a truth to your understanding, he says, " Don' \ 

you see ? " And when a father wishes to im- 
press the necessity of obedience to a precept 
^ upon his child, he says, " Do you hear ? " The 



(j 



ground of this lies in the fact, as just stated, 



L™™_™™^ , > 



? THE AGE OF RESPONSIBILITY. 23 

i 

j that 4;here is in the human mind a perception 
i that the spirit's vision is its power to see truth 

and its hearing is its willingness to obey. 

From this it may be seen that man's spiritual 
/ body is a real something — that it can see and 
\ hear, and that the natural body has, really, no 
| eye nor ear, but only organized forms by which 
;. the spiritual eyr and ear can see into and 
< hearken in the natural world. Now, if this be 

true of the eye and the ear, it is true of the '; 
\ whole body in every general and particular thing > 

appertaining to it ; and, as the natural body, 
\ which is an outbirth from the spiritual body, is j> 

\ a form beautifully organized in all its parts, and s 

;> is called a substance as well as a form, is it not \ 
\ clear that the spiritual body is also a substance i 
<; and a form ? nay, that the only true substantiality i 

f; is in the spiritual body, which can never be disor- 
5 ganized, but which retains its existence and its |> 
i powers forever? J 

Keeping this »i view, it may readily be per- jj 
s ceived that impressions can be made on this £ 

\ spiritual form and substance that will be as last- * 

ing as any thing made upon the body. That \ 

l l this is so, mankind have seen, in all ages, and 

\ hence the adage — " Just as the twig is bent, the \ 

tree's inclined ; " and the thousand wise precepts < 



24 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN 

in the codes of morality to be found in all na- 
tions, referring to the power of habit. 

The position here taken is, that the natural 
body is the material form with which the spiritual 
body clothes itself, in order to act in the material 
world ; if this be true, — and we are sure no ra- 
tional man can for a moment question it, — then 
we may, by analogy, determine some of the laws 
which govern the spiritual body, by observing 
those which govern the natural body. Now, the 
laws of natural health are those which govern 
the natural body, and, when observed, all its ma- 
chinery goes on right ; and it is but a wise infer- 
ence to say that the laws of spiritual health are j| 
those which govern in the spiritual body, and, when J 
observed, spiritual health must be the result. If ? 
we disregard the laws of natural health, diseased s 
impressions are made upon the body, more or \ 
less apparent, which ever after remain, and show \ 
themselves, no matter how careful we may be, in 
after life, under certain and particular circum- 
stances, and deprive us of some measure of ability \ 
to perform fully our duties or wishes in life. If \ 
the laws of health have been grossly abused, J 
more serious consequences follow ; and, some- ? } 
times, men's whole lives are rendered burdensome, \ 
and they, perhaps, unfitted for nearly all active i 

\ 



--~-v.-\y-_-_-\_-.,- 






THE AGE OF RESPONSIBILITY. 25 



5 duties, in consequence. Precisely similar will 

l be the result where the laws of spiritual health > 

l have been disregarded. " What are the laws of ) 

i spiritual health 1" is asked. We answer, the s 

J Decalogue contains the laws of spiritual health, \ 

!> as laid down by the Creator of man, who alone J 
I can know what is in man, and what laws to es- 
tablish for his government, in order to secure 
his happiness. The violation of any one of these 
laws, even in intention, will bring spiritual dis- 
J ease, as certainly as the violation of any law of 

natural health will produce natural disease ; and '< 

\ this disease will impress the substance and form \ 

\ of the spiritual body, and produce a change from jj 

true order, that no subsequent obedience to right S J 

\ precepts will ever entirely restore. \ 

\ It would be easy to show how the indulgence \ 

\ of every inordinate desire, — to do which young J 

men are so strongly tempted, — is a violation of \ 

\ some precept of the Decalogue, and tends to s 

r 1 destroy spiritual health ; but to do so, would ex- s 

i tend this preliminary part of our work too far, ) 

\ and trench too much upon the province of an i 

\ abstract spiritual philosophy. What we have al- ■> 

i ready advanced is deemed essential to the for- J 

mation of true ideas in regard to life and its ? ? 

\ responsibilities, and we cannot but think that its i 

\ bearing will be clearly seen. In other parts of \ 






5 

i 26 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

our work, we will keep in view the laws here 
laid down, and show their bearing in actual life. 

j; From what is advanced in this chapter, we 

think every reflecting young man will feel the 

!; necessity of examining his ends, as well as 
guarding his actions, and be exceedingly careful 
what impressions are made in the substance ana 

jj form of his spirit. 



CHAPTER IV. 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. <j 

\ 

The most common error into which young 
men fall at this era in their lives, — as was inti- 
mated in the last chapter, — is to consider the ;, 
age of freedom from the control of others as a < 
period of license for self-indulgence. Far too !; 
many run into extremes, and either injure their \ 
health, or form habits that ever after stand in the !j 
way of virtuous respectability, or success, as pro- 
fessional or business men. That this is a very < 
serious error, need not here be said. These j 
habits are of various kinds. We will notice one j 
of them in this chapter, as the most prevalent. 






A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 27 \ 

\ \ 
The habit of spending money too freely in 

> the gratification of a host of imaginary wants, is \ 
[ one into which young men of generous minds ;> 
\ are too apt to fall. Limited to a small income ) 
1 j previously, and compelled to deny themselves at I 
s nearly every point, they find it almost impossible \ 
\ to resist the impulse that prompts to self-gratifi- i 

< cation, and are thus led to spend, perhaps for \ 
\ years, the entire sum of their earnings, and, 5 

more than probable, to run into debt. The folly > 

J of this every one can see and acknowledge, and \ 

< yet too many have not the resolution to act up to \ 
\ their convictions. \ 

This habit of spending money uselessly has 
\ marred the fortunes of more young men than 

\ any other cause. It is a weakness that should \ 

i be firmly and constantly resisted by every j, 

< one. Money should be considered as a means < 
by which man has power to act usefully in the < 
world, and he ought to endeavor to obtain it d 

\ with that end in view. The greater a man's ') 

> wealth, the broader may be, if he but will it, the i 
t sphere of his usefulness. It is true that men < 
s do not seek for wealth under the impulse of '< 
s such high considerations, and, in the present < 
'] condition of the human mind, from causes just i 
cj explained, it cannot be expected that they should I 
i do so. But the first thing a man has to do in ) 



i 



28 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



the work of self-elevation, is to shun what is J 

evil because it is evil. And if a young man, \ 

who is constantly tempted to spend his money \ 

foolishly, should refrain from doing so from the \ 

consideration that it was wrong to waste that by \ 

which he might ultimately be useful to his ^ 

fellows, he will be very apt, in after life, to feel, \ 

under all circumstances of expenditure, that he ) 

must not be entirely unmindful of the effect of j; 

his acts upon others. ) 

One means for the correction of this fault \ 

may be found in a regular account of receipts > 

and expenditures. A young man, whose income i 

was seven hundred and fifty dollars a year, was < 

asked by a friend how much money he had \ 

saved. He had been receiving this salary about < 

\ four years, and had no expenses whatever except \ 

I those that were personal. \> 

j; " Saved ! " returned the young man, in sur- t 

\ prise. "I can't save any thing out of seven \ 

hundred and fifty dollars a year." \ 

j " I saved money on a salary of five hundred \ 

s dollars, ,, was the friend's quick reply. .? 

i " I should be most happy to know your se- I 

J cret," said the other. " I have tried fifty times J 

j to lay up something, but it's no use." \ 

) " What does your boarding cost you?' j 

!> "Three dollars and a half a week." ? 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 29 



) "Or a little over a hundred and eighty dollars 

a year. Add your washing, and it will make i 

two hundred. Next comes your tailor's bill. i 

How much is that 1 " i 

" Generally about a hundred and twenty-five > 

dollars." \ 

" Seventy-five more, I suppose, will pay for ^ 

your boots, and the various little etceteras of s 

clothing not included in your tailor's bill 1 " \ 

' O, yes, fully, I should think." \ 

"Very well. Where are the three hundred \ 

and fifty remaining % " i> 

" Dear knows, for I don't," was the young \ 

man's reply. < 

" What does your account book say 1 " \ 

" Account book ! I don't keep an account s 

oook. I never dreamed of such a thing." s 

" That is strange ! Why, I keep my own cash > 

account as carefully as I do my employer's." |> 

" I don't know any particular good that does," j> 

said the young man. " Keeping an account of j, 

your money doesn't make it go any further." $ 

" O, yes, it does. Keep an account of every § 

item spent for a month, and read it over care- \ 

fully on the first of the succeeding one, and my '^ 

word for it, if you have any disposition to pru- J 

dence in you, it will cause you to be more care- J 

ful of your money ; for you will see there the £ 



? 30 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

haunting ghosts of too many dollars spent in 
foolish self-indulgence, the pleasures of which en- 
dured but for a brief season, and left you a less 
I contented mind than you had previously enjoyed. 

\ In a little while, such account keeping, if you 

i adopt it, will show you where your three hundred 

\ and fifty dollars a year have gone. My reason 

J for asking you the question was this : one of the 

jj best opportunities for going into a safe and 

profitable business that I have yet seen, has 
ust presented itself. To enter into it will re- 
] quire a capital of two thousand dollars. I have 

laid by a thousand, and fully believed you had 
accumulated as much, and that jointly we might 
improve so rare an opportunity. But this, I am 
sorry to find, is not the case. I must seek for 
some one else who has the sum that is needed." 
r r ; This lesson the young man laid to heart, and 

profited by it. From that day, he kept a regular 
account of his expenses, and soon found that, 
with the data it afforded, and a little resolution 
\ and self-denial, he could lay up money — a thing 

> he had before deemed impossible. 

A good resolution, perhaps the best a young 

> man can form on this subject, is always to live 
below his income, let it be what it will. It may 
require, in some cases, a good deal of self-denial 

< to do this ; but such self-denial will be well re* 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 31 \ 

paid. We know a young man, who, at the age <; 

of twenty-two, married, while his income was \ 

but ten dollars a week. Instead of renting a 5 

whole house and going in debt for furniture, he 5 

rented a single room in the house of a friend, J 

with the privilege of the kitchen, for about fifty s 

dollars a year. His resolution had long before > 

been taken that he would always manage to i, 

spend less than he received, and he chose this ^ 

modest style of living as a means of attaining J 

his end. None of his friends or acquaintances '< 

thought the less of him for his prudence, but £ 

rather commended him. By living thus econom- \ 

ically, he was able to lay by a hundred dollars <> 

during the first year, and the same for two or !> 

three years longer. Then a good opportunity J 

offered for going into business, which was em- *? 

braced. Some ten years since that period have \ 

elapsed, and he has just retired with a snug little \ 

competence of forty or fifty thousand dollars. ^ 

This habit of living up to the income seems \ 

to be the bane of all success. The cause of it is \ 

not in a small income, but in unsatisfied desires. ) 

The young man who spends his salary of four $ 
or five hundred dollars, is almost sure to run 

through every thing he receives when that salary I 

is doubled. The gratification of one desire only j 

makes way for another still more exacting. It ? / 



< 32 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN |> 

is, therefore, of the first importance for a young 

5 man to guard himself here; if he do not, he is in < 

I danger of forming a habit that will go with him 1 

< through life, and mar his fairest prospects. The \ 
K prospects of thousands have been thus marred. \ 
\ A still worse error than spending the entire > 
\ income, and one the effects of which are far more 

blighting to a young man's worldly prospects, is \ 

that of living beyond the income, either under J 

the doubtful hope that it will be increased next t; 

year equal to the deficit of the present, or from <j 

the neglect of keeping a careful eye upon the \ 

\ relation existing between receipts and expendi- i 

> tures. The most common way in which this \ 
\ g om g beyond the income occurs, is in making \ 
J purchases on credit, instead of buying every \ 
\ thing for cash. If a want is felt, and the means \ 
£ of satisfying it are not in hand, the true way is ^ 

> to wait until such means are received, rather than \, 
!> anticipate their receipt by running in debt. At < 
J the beginning of a quarter, too many make pur- 5 
J chases to be paid at its expiration, instead of ? 
s waiting until its close, and then, with cash in j 

hand, buying just what they want, and no more. I 

J; Their salaries are received and paid all away fot > 

{ clothes worn, and board due, and they left to J 

I anticipate another quarter's income long before < 

I it comes into their hands. i 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 33 i 

? 

Going in debt for clothing is a very common, / 
but a very foolish practice. No one does it, 

who is not compelled to pay at least from ten to j> 

twenty per cent, more than he would if he always ) 

paid the cash down ; and he is, besides, tempted { 

to buy more than he otherwise would, and to J 

choose more expensive materials for his garments. i 

Then, while his six or twelve months' account \ 

is running on toward maturity, he is spending, s 

little by little, foolishly, the money that ought \ 

to be hoarded for its payment ; and when due day s 

comes, he too often finds it impossible to satisfy j; 

the large demand against him, unless by borrow- «.; 

ing from a friend, or getting an advance on his > 

salary. Does all this make him feel any hap- !> 

pier ? Is the consciousness of being in debt so 4 

very pleasant to a sensitive and honest mind ? ;l 

One would think that a young man's natural \ 

pride of independence would cause him to shrink J 

from such a position, and use every means in his J 

power to avoid it, instead of going into it with 5 

his eyes open, as so many do. ? 

It is wiser and more honorable for a man to ;J 

wear his coat three or six months longer, until ', 

he have the money with which to buy a new <; 

one, than it is to go in debt for the garment, <; 

and thus lay a tax upon his future income, or \ 

run the risk of not being able to pay for what j> 

3 j 



34 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

he has worn, at the time agreed upon A com- 
mon subject of remark among young men is 
their tailors' bills, and the difficulty of paying 
them. For a young man, with a fixed salary, 
and only himself to support, to have any tailor's 
bill at all, is no good sign, and speaks badly of 
his habits and future prospects. 

Debt — debt! A young man is mad, we had 

i almost said, to go in debt under any pretext 

whatever. We remember a bookbinder who, 
from intemperance, got into debt ; on reforming, 

j he lived on broken crackers, at a cent or two a 

pound, with tea made in his glue-ketde — he 
sleeping at night in the shaving-tub ; and this 

\ economical mode of living was continued until 

he got out of debt. How much better would it 

|j have been to have lived thus abstemiously, in 

order to have kept out of debt, had the neces- 
sity for so doing existed ! Almost any sacrifice 
of pride, feeling, and comfort, should be made by 
a young man, rather than go in debt ; for, once 
get behindhand, and it seems next to impossi- 
ble ever to recover yourself. You may toil early 
and late, and yet it will seem all in vain ; and if 
you do, at length, get your feet on firm ground, 
it will be by the severest struggles, or by what 
seems a happy accident. 

The facility with which young men of fail 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 35 (\ 

S 

character can get credit, is a great temptation > 

to many, who feel that it is a very pleasant thing \ 

to get all they want, even without a dollar in J 

their pockets, and have four, five, or six months > ? 

given them to pay the bill in. How utterly un- ^ 

conscious do they seem of the shortness of the J 

period of six months ! They look at it ahead, I 

and it seems afar off, and approaching with but s 

a slow pace. Ere they are aware, however, it is \ 

upon them, and, they too often find, upon them I 

much too soon. / 

This taxing the efforts of the future to pay > 

for the expenditures of the present, is a folly 'j 
so apparent that one would think even a child 

must see and avoid it as a great evil. No one 1 

knows what is in the future, nor what will be <! 

his future ability to meet even his current ex- ', 
penditures, much less to take up the burdens of 

former times. If in the present we find it hard J; 

to provide for all our present wants, surely there \ 

should arise a dictate in regard to the future, i 

and a carefulness how we lay upon next year $ 

not only its own burdens, but a portion of those s 

which belong to this, liuw does a young man -; 

know, when he contracts a debt to be paid in \ 

six months, that long before that time sickness, i 

or the reduction of his income, may not make it $ 

very hard for him to meet even his bare expenses <! 



36 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

then much less pay a bill contracted for previous 
necessities, or, more probably, self-indulgence in 
something that a wise forethought would have \ 

prompted him to do without ? 

Not the least annoying and mortifying of the 
inseparable accompaniments of debt is the liability \ 

to have demands made for money at times when it \ 

is utterly impossible to satisfy them. How often i 

is the honest intention hurt, the pride fired, or a i 

hopeful confidence in life chilled, by such sudden 
and imperative demands ! 

Since writing what precedes in this chapter, a 
book has been published, entitled " Self-Help/' 
by Samuel Smiles, author of " The Life of George 
Stephenson/' from which we make an extract on 
the subjects of economy, debt, living within the 
means, and kindred subjects, that is so full of right 
views that we ask for it a very thoughtful perusal. 
We also recommend the book to every young man 
who desires to rise into usefulness and eminent 
positions. 

"Every man ought so to contrive as to live 
within his means. This practice is of the very 
essence of honesty. For if a man do not manage 
honestly to live within his own means, he must 
necessarily be living dishonestly upon the means 
of somebody else. Those who are careless about 
personal expenditure, and consider merely their 



W J 



> A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 37 5 

I 

own gratification, without regard for the comfort ( 
of others, generally find out the real uses of money 
when it is too late. Though by nature generous, 

i these thriftless persons are often driven in the end ! 

to do very shabby things. They dawdle with their J 

money as with their time : draw bills upon the < 

future; anticipate their earnings; and are thus > 

under the necessity of dragging after them a load jj 

of debts and obligations which seriously affect their ^ 

action as free and independent men. The loose \ 
cash which many persons throw away uselessly, 

i and worse, would often form a basis of fortune and i 
independence for life. These wasters are their > 
own worst enemies, though generally found J 
amongst the ranks of those who rail at the injus- 
tice of " the world." But if a man will not be his < 
own friend, how can he expect that others will ? £ 
Orderly men of moderate means have always some- \ 
thing left in their pockets to help others; whereas 
your prodigal and careless fellows who spend all, s J 
never find an opportunity for helping anybody. s 
It is poor economy, however, to be a scrub. 
Narrow-mindedness in living and in dealing is !| 
generally short-sighted, and leads to failure. The 
penny soul, it is said, never came to two-pence. J 
Generosity and liberality, like honesty, prove the 
best policy after all. Though Jenkinson, in the 

\ " Vicar of Wakefield," cheated his kind-hearted \ 



38 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

s 

neighbor Flamborough in one way or another 
every year, " Flamborough," he says, " has been 
regularly growing in riches, while I have come to 

> poverty and a jail." And practical life abounds in 
cases of brilliant results from a course of generous, 

b honest policy. 

" The proverb says that ' an empty bag cannot 
stand upright f neither can a man who is in debt. 

> Debt makes everything a temptation. It lowers 
a man in self-respect, places him at the mercy of 
his tradesman and his servant, and renders him a 
slave in many respects, for he can no longer call 
himself his own master, nor boldly look the world 
in the face. It is also difficult for a man who is 
in debt to be truthful ; hence it is said that lying 
rides on debt's back. The debtor has to frame 
excuses to his creditor for postponing payment of 
the money he owes him ; and probably also to 
contrive falsehoods. It is easy enough for a man 
who will exercise a healthy resolution, to avoid in- 
curring the first obligation ; but the facility with 
which that has been incurred often becomes a 
temptation to a second ; and very soon the unfor- 
tunate borrower becomes so entangled that no late 
exertion of industry can set him free. The first 
Btep in debt is like the first step in falsehood ; 
almost involving the necessity of proceeding in the 
same course, debt following debt, as lie follows 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 39 

lie. Haydon, the painter, dated his decline from 
the day on which he first borrowed money. He 
realized the truth of the proverb, 6 Who goes a- 
borrowing, goes a-sorrowing.' The significant 
entry in his diary is : l Here began debt and ob- 
ligation, out of which I have never been and 
never shall be extricated as long as I live/ Hay- 
don had long been accustomed to borrow money 
from his poor father, which, however, he did not 
include in his obligations. Far different was the 
noble spirit displayed by Fichte, who said, when 
struggling with poverty, ' For years I have never 
accepted a farthing from my parents, because I 
have seven sisters who are all young, and in part 
uneducated ; and because I have a father who, 
were I to allow it, would in his kindness bestow 
upon me that which belongs by right to his other 
children.' For the same high-minded reason, 
Fichte even refused to accept presents from his 
poor parents. 

"Dr. Johnson held that early debt is ruin. 
His words on the subject are weighty, and worthy 
of being held in remembrance. ' Do not/ said 
he, c accustom yourself to consider debt only as an 
inconvenience ; you will find it a calamity. Pov- 
erty takes away so many means of doing good, 
and produces so much inability to resist evil, both 
natural and moral, that it is by all virtuous means 



40 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

to be avoided. . . . Let it be your first care, 
then, not to be in any man's debt. Resolve not 
to be poor; whatever you have, spend less. Pov- 
erty is a great enemy to human happiness ; it cer- 
\ tainly destroys liberty, and it makes some virtues 
impracticable and others extremely difficult. Fru- 
gality is not only the basis of quiet, but of benefi- 
cence. No man can help others that wants help 
himself; we must have enough before we have to 
spare.' 

" It is the bounden duty of every man to look 
his affairs in the face, and to keep an account of 
s his incomings and outgoings in money matters. 
The exercise of a little simple arithmetic in this 
I way will be found of great value. Prudence re- 
5 quires that we shall pitch our scale of living to a 

\ degree belo.w our means, rather than up to them ; 
\ but this can only be done by carrying out faith- 
\ fully a plan of living by which both ends may be 
X made to meet. John Locke strongly advised this 
\ course : t Nothing/ said he, 'is likelier to keep a 
/ man within compass than having constantly before 
j> his eyes the state of his affairs in a regular course 
s of account/ The Duke of Wellington kept an 
i accurate detailed account of all the moneys re- 
ceived and expended by him. i I make a point/ 
said he to Mr, Gleig, e of paying my own bills, 
and I advise every one to do the same ; formerly, 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 41 

I used to trust a confidential servant to pay them, 
but I was cured of that folly by receiving ono 
morning, to my great surprise, duns of a year or 
two's standing. The fellow had speculated with 
my money, and left my bills unpaid/ Talking 
of debt, his remark was, ' It makes a slave of a 
man. I have often known what it was to be in 
want of money, but I never got into debt/ 
Washington was as particular as Wellington was, 
in matters of business detail ; and it is a remark- 
able fact, that he did not disdain to scrutinize the 
smallest outgoings of his household — determined 
as he was to live honestly within his means — even 
while holding the high office of President of the 
American Union. 

" Admiral Jervis, Earl St. Vincent, has told the 
story of his early struggles, and, amongst other 
things, of his determination to keep out of debt. 
i My father had a very large family/ said he, 
1 with limited means. He gave me twenty pounds 
at starting, and that was all he ever gave me. 
After I had been a considerable time at the sta- 
tion [at sea], I drew for twenty more, but the bill 
came back protested. I was mortified at this re- 
buke, and made a promise which I have ever kept, 
that I would never draw another bill without a cer- 
tainty of its being paid. I immediately changed my 
mode of living, quitted my mess, lived alone, and 



42 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. J 

took up the ship's allowance, which I found quite \ 

sufficient; washed and mended my own clothes ; :> 

made a pair of trousers out of the ticking of my > 

bed ; and having by these means saved as much \ 

money as would redeem my honor, I took up my < 

bill ; and from that time to this I have taken care 
to keep within my means/ Jervis for six years 
endured pinching privation, but preserved his in- 
tegrity, studied his profession with success, and < 
;> gradually and steadily rose by merit and bravery 
to the highest rank. Samuel Drew's first lesson 
\ in economy is thus described by himself: 6 When 
I was a boy, I somehow got a few pence, and 
coming into St. Austell, on a fair-day, laid out all 
on a purse. My empty purse often reminded me 
) of my folly : and the recollection has since been 
) as useful to me as Franklin's whistle was to him/ 
s " It is a great point for young men to begin 
I well ; for it is in the beginning of life that that 
\ system of conduct is adopted which soon assumes \ 
\ the force of habit. Begin well, and the habit of \ 
J doing well will become quite as easy as the habit 
\ of doing badly. Well begun is half ended, says 
the proverb ; and a good beginning is half the 
battle. Many promising young men have irre- ) 
trievably injured themselves by a first false step ) 
at the commencement of life ; while others of j 
much less promising talents, have succeeded sim- 



A COMMON ERROR OE YOUNG MEN. 43 

ply by beginning well, and going onward. The 
good practical beginning is, to a certain extent, a 
pledge, a promise, and an assurance, of the ulti- 
mate prosperous issue. There is many a poor 
creature, now crawling through life, miserable 
himself and the cause of sorrow to others, who 
might have lifted up his head and prospered, if, 
instead of merely satisfying himself with resolu- 
tions of well-doing, he had actually gone to work 
and made a good practical beginning. 

u Too many are, however, impatient of results. 
They are not satisfied to begin where their fathers 
did, but where they left off. They think to enjoy 
the fruits of industry without working for them. 
They cannot wait for the results of labor and ap- 
plication, but forestall them by too early indul- 
gence. A worthy Scotch couple, when asked how 
their son had broken down so early in life, gave 
the following explanation : i When we began life 
together, we worked hard, and lived upon porridge 
and such like, gradually adding to our comforts 
as our means improved, until we were able at 
length to dine off a bit of roast meat, and some- 
times a boilt chuckle (or fowl) ; but as for Jock, 
our son, he began where we had left off — he began 
wi' the chuckie first* The same illustration will 
apply to higher conditions of life than that of this 
humble pair. 



44 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

" Mr. Hume hit the mark when he once stated 
in the House of Commons — though his words were 
followed by ' laughter' — that the tone of living 
in England is altogether too high. Middle class 
people are too apt to live up to their incomes, if 
not beyond them ; affecting a degree of ' style' 
which is most unhealthy in its effect upon society 
at large. There is an ambition to bring up boys 
as gentlemen, or rather c genteel' men; though 
the result frequently is, only to make them gents. 
They acquire a taste for dress, style, luxuries, and 
amusements, which can never form any solid 
foundation for manly or gentlemanly character ; 
and the result is, that we have a vast number of 
gingerbread young gentry thrown upon the world, 
who remind one of the abandoned hulls some- 
times picked up at sea, with only a monkey on 
board. 

" There is a dreadful ambition abroad for being 
1 genteel.' We keep up appearances, too often 
at the expense of honesty; and, though we may 
not be rich, yet we must seem to be so. We must 
be i respectable,' though only in the meanest 
sense — in mere vulgar outward show. We have 
not the courage to go patiently onward in the con- 
dition of life in which it has pleased God to call 
us ; but must needs live in some fashionable state 
to which we ridiculously please to call ourselves, 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 45 

and all to gratify the vanity of that unsubstantial 
genteel world of which we form a part. There is 
a constant struggle and pressure for front seats in 
the social amphitheatre \ in the midst of which all 
noble self-denying resolve is trodden down, and j 
many fine natures are inevitably crushed to death. \ 
What waste, what misery, what bankruptcy, come t 
from all this ambition to dazzle others with the ) 
glare of apparent worldly success, we need not de- \ 
scribe. The mischievous results show themselves i 
in a thousand ways — in the rank frauds committed s 
by men who dare to be dishonest, but do not dare j 
to seem poor* and in the desperate dashes at for- <; 
tune, in which the pity is not so much for those \ 
who fail, as for the hundreds of innocent families > 
who are so often involved in their ruin. J 

" The late Sir Charles Napier in taking leave s 
of his command in India, did a bold and honest ) 
thing in publishing his strong protest, embodied \ 
in his last General Order to the officers of the In- \ 
dian army, against the < fast' life led by so many ;' 
young officers in that service, involving them in ig- ;> 
nominious obligations. Sir Charles strongly urged, 
in that famous document — what had almost been 
lost sight of — that c honesty is inseparable from 
the character of a thorough-bred gentleman f and 
that < to drink unpaid-for champagne and unpaid- 
for beer, and to ride unpaid-for horses, is to be a 



46 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

cheat, and not a gentleman.' Men who lived be- 
yond their means, and were summoned, often by 
their own servants, before Courts of Requests for 
debts contracted in extravagant living, might be 
officers by virtue of tbeir commissions, but they 
were not gentlemen. The habit of being con- 
stantly in debt, the commander-in-chief held, 
made men grow callous to the proper feelings of a 
gentleman. It was not enough that an officer 
should be able to fight; that any bull-dog could 
do. But did he hold his word inviolate — did he 
pay his debts ? These were among the points of 
honor which, he insisted, illuminated the true 
gentleman's and soldier's career. As Bayard was 
of old, so would Sir Charles Napier have all British 
officers to be. He knew them to be i without 
fear/ but he would also have them l without re- 
proach.' There are, however, many gallant young 
fellows, both in India and at home, capable of 
mounting a breach on an emergency amidst belch- 
ing fire, and of performing the most desperate 
deeds of valor, who nevertheless cannot or will not 
exercise the moral courage necessary to enable 
them to resist a petty temptation presented to 
their senses. They cannot utter their valiant 
'No,' or C I can't afford it/ to the invitations 
of pleasure and self-enjoyment; and they are found 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 47 



ready to brave death rather than the ridicule of > 

their companions. J 

" The young man, as he passes through life, ) 

advances through a long line of tempters ranged \ 

on either side of him ; and the inevitable effect of ■) 

yielding, is degradation in a greater or less degree. s s 

Contact with them tends insensibly to draw away \ 

from him some portion of the divine electric ele- \ 

ment with which his nature is charged ; and his s 

only mode of resisting them is to utter and to act \ 

out his ' No' manfully and resolutely. He must £ 

decide at once, not waiting to deliberate and \\ 

balance reasons ; for the youth, like < the woman ? 

who deliberates, is lost/ Many deliberate, with- \ 

out deciding ; but i not to resolve, is to resolve/ [> 

A perfect knowledge of man is in the prayer, \ 

i Lead us not into temptation/ But temptation \ 

will come to try the young man's strength : \ 

and once yielded to, the power to resist grows \ 

weaker and weaker. Yield once, and a portion i 

of virtue has gone. Resist manfully, and the first > 

decision will give strength for life; repeated, it ^ 

will become a habit. It is in the outworks of the s 

habits formed in early life that the real strength > 

of the defence must lie ; for it has been wisely or- i 

dained that the machinery of moral existence ? 

should be carried on principally through the i 

medium of the habits, so as to save the wear and \ 

\ 



48 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

tear of the great principles within. It is good 
habits, which insinuate themselves into the 
thousand inconsiderable acts of life that really 
constitute by far the greater part of man's moral 

> conduct. 

11 Hugh Miller has told how, by an act of youth- 
ful decision, he saved himself from one of the 
£ strong temptations so peculiar to a life of toil. 

> When employed as a mason, it was usual for his 
fellow-workmen to have an occasional treat of 
drink, and one day two glasses of whiskey fell to 
his share, which he swallowed. When he reached 
home, he found, on opening his favorite book, 
6 Bacon's Essays/ that the letters danced before 
his eyes; and that he could no longer master the 
sense. l The condition/ he says, ' into which I 
had brought myself was, I felt, one of degradation. 
I had sunk, by my own act, for the time to a 
lower level of intelligence than that on which it 

< was my privilege to be placed ; and though the 

> ? state could have been no very favorable one for 

J forming a resolution, I in that hour determined 

that I should never again sacrifice my capacity of 
§ intellectual enjoyment to a drinking usage; and 

with God's help, I was enabled to hold by the de- 
termination/ It is such decisions as this that 
often form the turning-points in a man's life, and 
5 furnish the foundation of his future character. 



A COMMON ERROR OF YOUNG MEN. 49 j 

And this rock, on which Hugh Miller might have 

been wrecked, if he had not at the right moment I 

put forth his moral strength to strike away from t 

it, is one that youth and manhood alike need to ? 

be constantly on their guard against. It is about \ 

one of the worst and most deadly, as well as ex- j> 

travagant, temptations which lie in the way of s 

youth. Sir Walter Scott used to say, ' that of all \ 

vices drinking is the most incompatible with great- <; 

ness/ Not only so, but it is incompatible with \ 

economy, decency, health, and honest living. <> 

When a youth cannot restrain, he must abstain. ) 

Dr. Johnson's case is the case of many. He said, jj 

referring to his own habits, { Sir, I can abstain ; \ 

but I can't be moderate/ \ 

" But to wrestle vigorously and successfully \\ 

with any vicious habit, we must not merely be > 

satisfied with contending on the low ground of 5 

worldly prudence, though that is of use, but take s 

stand upon a higher moral elevation. Mechanical i 

aids, such as pledges, may be of service to some, e 

but the great thing is to set up a high standard ? 

of thinking and acting, and endeavor to strengthen \ 

and purify the principles, as well as to reform the \ 

habits. For this purpose a youth must study ) 

himself, watch his steps, and compare his thoughts £ 

and acts with his rule. The more knowledge of \ 

himself he gains, the humbler will he be, and > 

4 < 






50 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

I m } 

I perhaps the less confident in his own strength. 

\ But the discipline will be found most valuable £ 

jj which is acquired by resisting small present < 

\ gratifications to secure a prospective greater and \ 

\ higher one. It is the noblest work in self-educa- \ 

> tion — for 5 

s ' Heal glory J 

Springs from the silent conquest of ourselves, 

And without that the conqueror is nought \ 

\ But the first slave.' S 

;, > 

u Many popular books have been written for the 
purpose of communicating to the public the grand 
secret of making money. But there is no secret 

whatever about it, as the proverbs of every nation h 
abundantly testify. ' Many a little makes a meikle/ 

1 Take care of the pennies and the pounds will < 

take care of themselves/ ( A penny saved is a i 

penny gained.' < Diligence is the mother of good- \ 

luck/ ' No pains no gains/ ( No sweat no sweet/ !» 

i Sloth, the key of poverty/ i Work, and thou i 

shalt have/ i He who will not work, neither \ 

\ shall he eat/ ' The world is his, who has patience j 

and industry/ ( It is too late to spare when all J; 
is spent/ i Better go to bed supperless than rise 

in debt/ ( The morning hour has gold in its \ 
mouth/ ' Credit keeps the crown of the cause- 

< way/ Such are specimens of the proverbial philo- i 

sophy, embodying the hoarded experience of many I 



J. 



A COMMON ERROR OP YOUNG MEN. 51 5 

I 

generations, as to the best means of thriving in jj 

the world. They were current in people's mouths l 

long before books were invented ; and like other \ 
popular proverbs, they were the first codes of 

popular morals. Moreover, they have stood the 5 

test of time, and the experience of every day still jj 

bears witness to their accuracy, force, and sound- s 

ness. The proverbs of Solomon are full of wisdom, \ 

as to the force of industry, and the use and abuse ? 

of money : i He that is slothful in work is brother !> 

to him that is a great waster/ ( Go to the ant, s 

thou sluggard ; consider her ways and be wise/ \ 

Poverty, he says, shall come upon the idler c as > 

one that traveleth, and want as an armed man f \ 

but of the industrious and upright, * The hand of < 

the diligent maketh rich/ ( He who will not \ 

plough by reason of the cold, shall beg in harvest, ( ] 

and have nothing/ c The drunkard and the glut- I 

ton shall come to poverty ; and drowsiness shall j 

clothe a man with rags/ * The slothful man says j 

there is a lion in the streets/ i Seest thou a man \ 

) diligent in his business ? he shall stand before !»' 

j kings/ But above all ' It is better to get wisdom > 

{ than gold ; for wisdom is better than rubies, and s 

all the things that may be desired are not to be J 

\ compared to it/ " i 

) u Simple industry and thrift will go far toward \ 

\ making any person of ordinary working faculty ? 

L_ J 



} 
52 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

) 

comparatively independent in means. Even a \ 

working man may be so, provided he will care- \ 

fully husband his resources, and watch the little \ 

outlets of useless expenditure. A penny is a s 

very small matter, yet the comfort of thousands \ 

of families depends upon the proper spending and t 

saving of pennies." \ 

We need not add a single word to give force to 

this admirable presentation of the subject of thrift > 

as connected with carefulness, economy, and self- s 

denial. \ 



I — \ 

i CHAPTER V. 

i \ 

> c' 

*> FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES. \> 

\ 

\ A want of prudence in the use of money, s 

\ at the beginning, may become confirmed into \ 

\ habits that will mar a man's fortunes for life, \ 

i but a want of due caution in regard to our asso- 5 

5 ciates is fraught with consequences far more ? 

< direful. The effects of the first error are felt 

( mainly in the inconveniences and disabilities of S 

i natural life ; but the effects of the latter reach < 



FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES. 53 < 

? 
? 

far deeper, and impress themselves upon man's \ 

spiritual and substantial part. ? 

The laws of association are governed by men- [ \ 

tal and moral — or, to speak more correctly ) 

spiritual — affinities, and are based upon the qual- \ \ 

ities of mind and heart. The good are attracted \ 

toward each other, and the same thing occurs i 

with the evil, when reciprocal interchanges of \ 

thoughts and feelings take place. Now, in every \ 

society of either the good or the evil, there is a \ 

sphere of the quality of that society pervading s 

the whole ; and all who come into it, and volun- \ 

tarily remain there, are more or less strongly af- I 

fected by this sphere, and think and feel with { 

the rest. Let a man, who has a respect for order ] 

and obedience to the laws, go into a mob, and [> 

voluntarily remain there for a time, and he will \> 

be surprised to find his liveliest sympathies on < 

the side of mob law; and the reason of it is, he \ 

feels the sphere of the quality of that mob's af- \ 

fections — he is in it, and breathes it, and feels i 

an impulse to act from it. Who does not from \ 

his heart condemn the reprehensible practice ^of \ 

steamboat racing, for instance ? yet who has ever jj 

stood upon the deck of a noble boat during a 5 

trial of speed with another boat of nearly equal r ^ 

or superior capacity, and among a crowd of \ 
eager spectators, that has not forgotten all dan- 

\ 



f— 



54 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN, 

ger and waived all disposition to censure the 
officers of the boat, in his sympathy with the 
general feeling? 

From these two instances may clearly be seen 
the great importance of choosing, with care, our 
associates. If we mingle with those who make 



< light of both human and divine laws, we shall be < 

< led into the same error, and sink, instead of < 
\ rising, in the scale of moral excellence. But if \ 
\ we choose more wisely our companions, we shall 1; 
\ not only be elevated ourselves, but help to ele- \ 
^ vate others. 

I In speaking of the origin, nature, and destiny ]J 

I of man, we showed how, after attaining the low- ? 

est point in the circle of declension from good, i 

I a return to true order had commenced, and had > 

> been in progress now for nearly two centuries. t 

And we also briefly alluded, in another place, to 

the fact, that the commencement of every man's J 
s duties in aiding this return began at the age of 
;! responsibility, or when he became freed from 

i the trammels of minorship. And we will here < 

state, that only just so far as each man elevates 

himself by refraining from all evil acts, does he, ? 

I or can he, do any thing for the general return to I 

true order. He may build churches, and send ] 

forth missionaries, and be devout in his obser- J 

J vances of all religious ordinances ; but still he has < 



FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES. 



55 



done nothing in this great work, unless he have 
actually shunned evils in his own life, as sins. 
If this be done, he has really and truly removed 
evil in the world, and made way for the influx 

Of gOOd. !; 

Keeping all this in view, — the whole subject ',; 

of his duties and his danger, — every young man 
may see how much depends upon his choice of 
associates. If he mingle with those who are gov 
erned by right principles, his own good purposes \ 

will be strengthened, and he will strengthen oth- |j 

ers in return. But if he mingle with those who 
make light of virtue, and revel in selfish and j 

sensual indulgences, he will find his own respect 
for virtue growing weaker, and he will gradually 
become more and more in love with the grosser 
enjoyments of sense, that drag a man downward, J 

instead of lifting him upward, and throw a mist 
of obscurity over all his moral perceptions. 

It not unfrequently happens, that young men 
— either from feeling the dangers attendant upon 
associations with others, or from a natural disin- ; 

clination for society — seclude themselves, and 
take for companions books and their own \ 

thoughts, becoming hermits in the very midsf 
of society. This is an error that effectually pre- \ 

vents a healthy development of character. One 
of the first laws of our being is the law of associ- 






i 56 ADV.VIE TO YOUNG MEN. j 

< ation, ind whoever disregards it, disregards not , 
only his own, but the common good. Society is \ 

\ a man in a larger form, and we are all members, 

and must act in concert with the rest, and do <j 

our duty to the whole, or we shall find ourselves !; 

< — like a hand that lies inactively appropriating \> 
\ the life-blood that flows into it, without doing \ 
\ any thing for the whole body — gradually losing \ 
I our power, and withering away into mental im- ^ 
\ potency. I; 

That society m a man in a larger form, may < 

be seen on a moment's reflection. And as this j; 

is a very important truth, upon the right un- jj 

<; derstanding of which the health of society de- 

s r 

\ pends, we will here endeavor to make it apparent. J 

> The common perception that it is so, causes the \ 

i king, or supreme officer in a government, to be J 

5 called the head of the nation. \ 

\ It is known that no two men are precisely ) 

alike in appearance, disposition, or ability ; that i 

I no two men are able to do the same thing with 

equal skill; and it is also known that there is 

some one thing in which every particular man 

can excel his fellow, if he will but direct to that 

) thing all the powers of both his mind and body i 

One man comes into the province of the head 

s and his chief delight and activities consist in i 

\ a regard to things of government, either in the \ 



FRIENDS AND ASSOCIATES. 57 



affairs of the nation, as a whole, or in some one jj 

of its thousand subdivisions into lesser associa- i 
tions. He sees ends, causes, and effects far i 

more clearly than his neighbor, who may be, [j 

perhaps, in the province of the hand, and ever ) 

ready to execute what others plan. The one is \ 

a man of thought, the other of execution, and \ 

they act in harmony in the attainment of the i 
general good; one is not more honorable than 

another, except so far as he does his appropriate \ 

work more faithfully. It would be an interesting J 

task to trace here the correspondence between '< 

the attributes and functions of common society, \ 

and those of the individual man ; but a mere dec- \ 

laration of the fact, with the simple and appa- \ 

rent illustration of it that we have given, will \ 

cause it to strike almost every one as true, and \ 

enable every one to trace out this correspondence \ 

for himself. But, if there are any who cannot { 

comprehend what has been assumed in regard to \ 

society being a man in a larger form, let them \ 

consider this plain proposition. Society is an ag- \ 

gregate of individual men, and must, therefore, I 

be the complex of those qualities, attributes, I 

wants, and abilities, which appertain to individ- 5 

ual men ; consequently, society is a greater man, \ 

and must be sustained in health by an observance \ 

of the laws which preserve the individual. \ 



58 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



? 



The conclusion arrived at in the last sentence 
is what we are particularly desirous of impressing 
upon the minds of such of our readers as feel 
inclined to separate themselves from society, and 
live in selfish seclusion. All the members of the 
body act in harmony : the eye sees not for itself; 
the ear hears not for itself; the hand works not 
for itself; but all labor for the common good, 
while each part is sustained from the whole. If 
any part ceases to perform its functions, that part 
at once begins to suffer decay ; its muscles 
shrink, its veins and arteries decrease in volume, 
s the blood circulates feebly through it; it be- 

ll comes weak and helpless, and affects the whole 

i body with disease more or less serious, as the 

part approaches or is more remote from the 
seat of life. Just such will be the effect pro- 
duced in every case where a man deliberately 
) withdraws himself from the uses of society; and 

< the more serious will be the result, the higher the 

< function he is qualified to fill. The duty of so- 
cial intercourse is not so imperative as the duty 

\ of performing faithfully the work of our office in 

life, be it what it may. Derelictions -here, pro- 

l duce the worst consequences. But, even where a 

man labors with diligence in his ordinary calling, 

\ and is faithful to all men in it, seclusion from 

friendly intercourse with his fellows will seriously 



en. ? 

IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND. 59 \ 

S i 

} 
injure him, for it will prevent the development 

of those social virtues so essential to the coun- $ 

teraction of that selfishness which is ever leading J 

us to see no good in others, and to have no re- j 

gard for others' happiness. So long as this is '; 

felt, we make no progression whatever in the as- ? 

cending circle of return to true order, and do J 

nothing that really aids others in a similar pro- J 

5 gression. \ 

Let every young man, then, seek for associa- s 

lions in life ; but let him be exceedingly careful s 

how he make his selection. Almost every thing £ 

depends upon its being done with prudence. ^ 



< 



CHAPTER VI \ 

IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND. J 

§ <; 

No truth in science or morals, nor any skill 01 ;> 

accomplishment which a man obtains, is ever lost < 

to him. Some time in his life he will find it use- <; 

ful. Youth is the season of acquirement, and'; I 

maturer years the time of action ; and the action I ^ 

->f maturer years will be perfect or imperfect in > 

an exact ratio with our earlier acquirements. 



r 



60 ADTICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



i As but few young men venture upon the uncer \ 

) tain experiment of business immediately on be- ;> 

< coming of age, most of them have several years ( 

of freedom from its absorbing cares, and an op- \ 

l portunity for study, in which many things may s 

\ be learned, that will, some time in after life, be £ 

i found of great importance. The character of ? 

;j these studies should be governed very much by i 

the particular calling in which a young man is b 

I engaged. As, for instance, if he have chosen I 

s commercial pursuits, he will find in an acquire- s 

r ment of a knowledge of the modern languages 

|J a very important means of future advancement. s 

If honest and competent as a clerk, he may be I 

selected as best fitted, from his acquaintance 

with German, French, or Spanish, to conduct a i 

voyage as supercargo, that will not only mate- ;'. 

rially increase his income, but give him an oppor- \ 

tunity of seeing foreign nations and coming into < 

actual business contact with them — that most { 

i 

important means of enlarging our ideas, correct- \ 

ing false impressions, and maturing our judgments j> 

in those matters of the world that are so essential 5 
to success. And so of every other pursuit or 

calling in which a young man may be engaged. \ 

Some particular branch of information will be J 

found to aid materially his advancement therein, \ 

and secure his future well-doing. How to direct \ 

\ 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND. 61 

aright his efforts, every one must decide for him- 
self, from the circumstances of his own position. 

But even where no means of using the infor- 
mation proposed to be obtained is presented to 
the mind, every opportunity for improvement 
should be embraced, and those branches of 
knowledge cultivated that accord best with the 
tastes and inclinations. One or two hours of 
well-directed study, each day, will furnish the 
mind, in a few years, with a vast amount of in- 
formation on all subjects, not a single item of 
which will be valueless, but, some time in life, 
be of use to the possessor. 

Books of facts and books of principles should 
make by far the larger portion of a young man's 
reading, and works of fancy and fiction be re- 
sorted to only as mental recreations, or the 
means of improving the taste. The first are 
essential to the formation of his rational mind ; 
they contain the food by which it is nourished, 
and from which it grows into maturity and vigor. 
If, instead of this kind of reading, mere fiction 
be resorted to, a puny intellectual growth will 
be the consequence, and, instead of there being 
the soundness of true mental force and discrimi- 
nation, there will be only the weakness of a 
trifling sentimentality. History, biography, and 
travels, furnish the mind with the main facts to 



62 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



be obtained by mere reading, while the abstruser < 

facts of science, even more necessary than these 
\ to be known, must be acquired by something ) 

) more than this superficial mode — by patient \ 

) and laborious study ; but this patience and labor £ 

\ receive a rich reward. Another and equally im- 

s portant branch of reading is that of mental and \ 

\ moral philosophy. There is danger here of ac- 

\ quiring false views ; for these abound in nearly $ 

I every philosophical work extant. History re- s 

cords the naked facts that have transpired ; biog- \ 

\ raphy tells the story of a man's life; and the book < 

< of travel opens up to us the manners, customs, «; 
and peculiarities of other nations. We read 
them all, and form our own conclusions from the \ 
facts stated. But books of philosophy come to 

us as grave teachers, with precepts for our gov- s 

< ernment in actual life. They assume to under- 
\ stand the constituents of the human mind, and 

to lay down laws for its government. Of these \ 
\ books there are many, and all with systems more ^ 

or less variant with each other. They cannot all 
be true, of course. " What, then, am I to do ? 
Who is to lead me into a true system of philoso- . ) 
phy ? " we hear asked ; and we answer, " Your 
s own reason, guided by an earnest desire for the j 

truth for its own sake." Prove all things, and 
i bold fast that which is good 



-J 



I " \ 



i 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND. 63 

This, at first sight, may seem very unsatisfac- 
tory kind of advice; but it is the only advice we 
can conscientiously gi Fe . No man can truly 
believe any thing that he does not understand ; 
and therefore nothing can be truth to him that 
does not come within the scope of his own 
reason. Systems of philosophy, when presented 
to Inm, ought to be examined; but nothing that 
they advance should be received as truth, unless 
his own rationality approve. The test of all 
truth is its ability to lead to good. To take a 
thing for granted because it is gravely stated as 
truth by a man who has the reputation of being 
a great philosopher, is the worst of folly. Even 
if the proposition be true, it is a truth to no one 
unless it be rationally perceived. A man may 
assent to it, but it is not a living, but only a dead 
assent. He is none the wiser. 

As the precept, " Man, know thyself," is to 
all one of vital moment, and as no man can 
properly know himself unless he understand 
something of his mental and moral nature, we 
will make a few plain statements on the subject, 
from which any one may derive clear ideas, and 
be able to understand his own mental operations, 
and the laws that govern them. Such a knowk 
edge will enable him to separate the wheat from 



64 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



the chaff in books, and store up the wheat in ) 
the garner of his innermost thoughts. 

The mind of man is threefold. It consists of 

affection, thought, and power ; or will, undei i 

standing, and action. The will is man's love, oi jj 

very life, the moving impulse of his being; his I 

understanding gives a form to this affection, s 

clothing it in thoughts ; and from both together J 

flows forth activity. In the will of man, which is > 

his love, or life, resides his ends ; these work by ^ 

his understanding, or reasoning faculty, in the !> 

procurement of means to their gratification ; and ) 
when all is prepared, from both flows forth activi- 
ty in real life. It will require but little reflection 
to make this clearly apparent. A man has some 

end in view, which is a desire for something : \ 

this is the first impulse he feels. He never ? 

thinks first, but always feels or desires first, and i 

thought is but the consequence. As just said, ^ 

a man has some end in view, which is a desire j 

for something ; immediately his reasoning powers i 

awake, and eagerly search about for the means 1 
by which that end may be obtained ; but still a 
man might desire forever, and think forever, and 



^ no effect would be produced, if both affection > 

5 and thought did not consummate themselves in J 

? action. In the erection of a house, the first s 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE MIND. 



65 



thing is a desire for a building suitable for a ] 

certain purpose; then the understanding takes J 

up the matter, and wisely determines what is to < 

be done, and decides upon tht. best modes of \ 

doing it ; and, lastly, all the machinery required \ 

is put in operation, and the building is com- \ 

pleted, the end accomplished. i 

That all this is true, the simplest mind can 5 

see at a glance. Now, we wish further to say, t 

that whatever be the quality of the mind's affec- \ 

tion, such will be the quality of the thoughts that I; 

are prompted by this affection, and such the > 

quality of the ultimate action ; if good, good ; if J 

bad, bad. An evil will acts by false thoughts, ;j 

and produces evil actions ; while a good will acts \ 

by true thoughts, and produces good actions. < 

This philosophy of the human mind, simple £ 

and comprehensive as it is, is now seen to be <; 

eminently practical. It causes a man to think > 

well of his ends ; and the quality of these he can ? 

see in his actions, for they reflect the ends which ? 

govern a man as clearly as a mirror reflects his <? 

face. If the act be wrong, the end in view, from ;, J 

which that action flowed as a natural result J 

must be wrong also ; for a sweet fountain cannot \ 

send forth bitter waters. i 

Ever keeping in view this law of the human \ 

mind, the young adventurer on the sea of meta- 5 

5 J 

_„____ ^ ___™J 



66 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

i 

physical knowledge will at all times be able to 5 

determine his position, and to discriminate be- \ 

tween the true and false lights by which he is \ 

compelled to steer his soul-laden bark. § 

Man's study of himself, aided by certain data , l ; 
in the outset, is full of interest, and fraught with '> 
the most important results. He who carefully \ 
observes the operations of his own mind, is soon 
able to correct false views, and soon acquires a < 
soundness of thinking on all subjects. He 
makes a stronger impression on society ; his in- 
fluence widens daily. } 

Very many considerations might be urged 

upon young men by which to make them feel < 

the importance of improving their minds in every s 

possible way; the highest consideration we can \ 

urge is that of man's duties to common society, \ 
and the impossibility of his discharging them 
efficiently, unless every power of his mind be 

cultivated to the extent of the opportunities b 

afforded him. But too few are able to feel so \ 

unselfish a consideration as this, and they must J 

be moved by the lower influences of respecta- j 
bility, eminence, or the possession of wealth, all 

or some of which are the rewards that follow the \ 

cultivation of man's intellectual ability. An ig- J 

norant man may get rich, but he cannot rise into \ 

intellectual society ; he can never be any thing \ 

$ 



1 SELF-EDUCATION. 67 

S 

in the world except a mere money-maker, nor be 
j esteemed for any thing but his wealth. He con- 

tributes nothing toward the world's true ad- 
vancement; he is, after all, but a drone in the 
social hive ; and when he dies, his memory soon 
perishes with him, unless he provides for having 
J it inscribed upon some imposing edifice, built 

by the money he could no longer use for his 
own selfish purposes — to no truly great man an 
J enviable fame. 



CHAPTER VII. 



SELF-EDUCATION. 



Although the improvement of our minds, in 
the way just alluded to, is, to all intents, self- 
education, yet by that term here we mean some- 
thing more than was contemplated in the pre- 
ceding chapter. There are a very large number 
of young men, just entering upon life, of good 
minds, but deficient educations, who, from this 
cause, are kept back, and labor under great dis- 
^ abilities. Many of these are mechanise, and 

others have no regular calling whatever, and 
find it very difficult to earn any thing beyond a 



03 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

\ 

very meagre support. Upon these we would 
I urge, with great earnestness, the duty of self- 

<! education, so called. The deficiencies of early 

> years need not keep them back from positions of 
l> eminence in society — those positions awarded 

> only to men of intellectual force and sound in- 
formation — if they will but strive for them. A 

< vast amount of knowledge may be gained in the 

^ course of a few years, by rightly employing those 

> leisure hours which every one has ; and this 
\ knowledge, if of a practical kind, will always 

insure to a man the means of elevation in the 
I world. 

s A young man who is a mechanic, able to earn 

only from six to ten dollars per week, must re- 
i main a mechanic all his life, unless he have the 

s 1 ability to do something else from which a larger 

J income is to be obtained. He may become a 

[j master workman, it is true ; but this will depend 

upon the character of his mind, and the kind of 
J business he is engaged in. It is not every trade 

I which a young man can set up for himself. 

j| More capital than a journeyman mechanic can 

\ ordinarily obtain is often required. 

]> A young mechanic, who has possessed but few 

I educational advantages, will find himself deficient 

J in many things, and be painfully conscious of his 

J inability to procure a comfortable livelihood for 



Uuwwv 



! SELF-EDUCATION 69 '/ 

I ■ > 

himself and those who may happen to be de- < 

i pendent upon him, if at some future day loss of !; 

\ health, casualty, or other circumstance, should \ 

\ render him unable to work at his trade. The ;> 

first business of such a one ought to be, the ac- $ 

\ quirement of some kind of knowledge that could s 

< be used to advantage, were such a state of things J 

l ever to occur. And we would recommend to > 

[] -every one so situated to turn his attention to two i\ 

\ things : first, the acquirement of a thorough [> 

t knowledge of figures and account-keeping ; and i 

second, to the improvement of his handwriting. s 

He will find ample leisure for this. But he must <! 

s not be discouraged if his progress be slow ; if < 

he make any progress at all, that should encour- \ 

age him to persevere ; and if, after an application \ 

of two, three, or even four years to this and other \ 

) branohes of study and information, he be reward- s 

ed by obtaining a situation as clerk, with an in- i 

creased income and lighter labor, he will not \ 

<; think it has cost him too dear. ___ 5 

\ Some years ago, we knew a lad, of no remark- \ 

able quickness of intellect, who was apprenticed > 

\ to a trade at the age of thirteen years. For two ) 

years previously, he had been at work, so that \ 

\ all his education had been acquired from the \ 

time he could go to school until he was eleven 

years old ; and while at school, he was rather a \ 



70 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

dull boy, and did not advance as rapidly as most 
children. During his apprenticeship, which con- 
tinued through a period of nearly seven years, 
something inspired his mind with a desire for 
knowledge, and he commenced reading and study- 
ing at times when his fellow-apprentices were at 
play or sitting idly about, in the few books to 
which he could get access. As he had no one 
to direct his studies, they were, of course, attend- 
ed with many disadvantages and drawbacks, and 
he was compelled to pick up, here and there, the 
information he desired upon any subject, and 
', often to abandon the pursuit, and turn to some 

J other branch of knowledge, because the few 

? books he could attain were little more than ele- 

mentary works, or mere abridgments. But, the 
I more he learned, the more he found there was to 

< learn, and the more eager he became for infor- 
mation on all subjects. He was about eighteen 

< years of age when he began to have good reason 
«; to fear that he would not be able to follow the 
£ trade he was learning, as a means of livelihood ; 
i that his health would not permit him to work at 
] it much beyond the time when he was to be free. 

For a while, this caused him great depression of 



s 



spirits ; but he was not of a temper long to de- 

\ spond under any circumstances, for he had a 

consciousness of internal power, and this led him 



''] SELF-EDUCATION. 71 \ 

to action, rather than the indulgence of gloomy \ 

forebodings. What we have advised in the pre- / 

i ceding paragraph, was the suggestion of his own \ 

jj mind. He felt that a knowledge of account-keep- J» 

I ing, with the ability to write a fair business hand, s 

\ would be of the first importance to him, in case J 

he were unable to gain a livelihood by working 

\ at the trade he was learning. All his efforts \ 

were now directed to an acquirement of the £ 

knowledge and skill needed. He began by \ 

< taking up an arithmetic and going through it, \ 
\ beginning at w Compound Division," and ending \ 

with " Promiscuous Questions." This was the 

work of an entire winter, and the time spent at [] 

it was generally from one to two hours in every I 
Jj twenty-four. In doing this, his aim was to ac- 
quire a facility for making all kinds of calcula- 

< tions required in business. During this time, ;» 

< he wrote from one to two pages in a copy-book J 
jvery day, and made a very great improvement ) 

> in writing. All this was done without omitting \ 
\ any of his regular employments, or in the least \ 

> neglecting the interests of his master, who ? 
never once had cause to make a complaint \ 

> against him. J 

> After he had gained the arithmetical know!- > 
edge he desired, our young friend commenced j 

? } the study of book-keeping, and soon understood 5 



72 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



] the whole theory of accounts; but here he 5 
jj wanted more practical knowledge than the mere j 
J making of fictitious entries, &,c., on a few sheets ) 
1 of paper called a day-book, and posting from ;> 
> these to a few sheets more, called a ledger; and ? 
i the opportunity of gaining it soon occurred. <j 
^ His master had always kept his own books, i 
s though in a bungling manner ; but his business ,> 
had increased so much that a more thorough sys- £ 
tern was required, and he was about employing a ? 
regular clerk to take charge of them. This fact s 
came accidentally to the ears of his apprentice, \ 
who, after turning the matter carefully over in s 
his mind, ventured to offer his services, and pro- \ 
posed to do the work in the evening, after his i 
regular day's labor was done. To this his mas- ? 
ter, after satisfying himself that the boy under- 4 
stood something about book-keeping, very readily J 
assented, and, purchasing an entire new set of 
books, set him to work in opening them, and <! 
transferring all the accounts from the old ledger. j 
This occupied him about a week, during which \ 
time he did nothing else. The work was very I 
neatly and correctly done, and pleased his mas- «J 
ter so well, that he offered him the option of re- 
maining in the shop, or assisting him in the gen- j> J 
eral management of the business, and taking i 
charge of the books and collections. No propo- 



SELF-EDUCATION. 



73 



sition could have been more agreeable. It was 
accepted at once. In this new department he 
remained until he was of age, and was then em- 
ployed in the same capacity, at a salary at least 
two hundred dollars a year more than he could 
! have earned by working at his trade. 

J This young man's desire for improvement did 

> ? not stop with the first reward of his diligence in 

i acquiring useful information. A love for mathe- 

\ matical studies had been awakened, and algebra, 
'■ mensuration, geometry, and all the higher and 

', abstruser branches, one after the other, became 
«! the subjects of patient investigation. By the 

\ time he was free, he understood more about 
i\ them than one half of the young men who have 
\ enjoyed all the facilities afforded by the best lit- 
jj erary institutions. Three years after his time of 

i service expired, he obtained a situation in a 

j corps of engineers, just commencing the survey 

\ of a long line of railroads, since constructed, at 
\ a salary of one thousand dollars a year. Here 

\ he had a 'fine chance to display his ability; and 

i he did it to such good purpose, that, before the 

expiration of twelve months, he was employed to 
conduct several surveys at the south, from which 
he derived an income of twenty-five hundred 
\ dollars a year for two years. He never returned 

I; to the north, except as a visitor. After the sur 



74 ADViCL £0 YOUNG MEH. S 

veys were made, he received an appointment as i 

professor of mathematics in a southern college — ^ 

a situation tL&t he still retains. He is now con- ? 

sidered ont of the first mathematicians in the \ 

country. s 

Fellow-apprentices with the individual of \ 

whom wxi nave been speaking, were lads who \ 

had enjoyed greater advantages of education, j; 

and who were blessed with quicker intellects. \ 

But whiie he was diligently seeking to improve \ 

himself, they were content with their acquire- < 
ments, and preferred idleness or mere amusement 
to study. This was the simple fact that lay at 

the foundation of the different results. Each J 
one of tuem might have become as eminent in 

some pursuit for which a peculiar formation of i 

mind particularly fitted him. ] 

Very many instances of results similar to the i 
one just stated have fallen under the writers ob- 
servation. He could point to a single shop, out 

of which have come at least half a dozen men, J 

now more or less eminent in the professions. i 

They were poor boys, with few advantages, and \ 

early in life put out to trades by their parents, i 
who had not the means of preparing them for 

higher walks of usefulness. In one or two of \ 

them the thirst for knowledge was felt, and they \ 

inspired the others with a feeling of noble emu* \ 






SELF-EDUCATION. 75 \ 

5 

ation. Their leisure hours were spent in study, \ 

*ach one in the branches that suited best his j> 

taste and inclinations. Most of them chose \ 

medicine as a profession, and laid the ground- ; ; 

work of a knowledge of the healing art in a i 

commencement of the study of anatomy. A J 

physician, a friend of one of the young men, j> 

generously offered them all the facilities his {> 

office afforded, with advice as to the order of r ) 

their studies. These were pursued with great \ 

diligence late at night and early in the morning, \ 

so as not to interfere with their working hours, t 

or their duties to their master, who never had \ 

cause to complain that their work was not well f 

done. One of them had the misfortune to have ^ 

a natural obtuseness of intellect. It cost him { 

three times the labor that it did any of the rest \ 

to acquire the same amount of information ; but <J 

what he lacked in quickness of comprehension, \ 

he made up in more intense and more prolonged \ 

application. So much interested did this young £ 

man become, and so eager was he in the pursuit £ 

of his anatomical investigations, that, upon an l > 

arm, which he obtained for dissection, he worked \ 

'? 

sometimes for nearly the whole night, and unti it J 

became so offensive, that his mother, with wh( n j 

he boarded, discovered what he was about, aiJ j 

was so shocked, that he was obliged to give up thj 



c 1 



76 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



precious bundle of arteries, nerves, and muscles, < 

which he had obtained at some cost, and which < 

had afforded him so much pleasure and instruct \ 

tion. With another arm he was more successful, ? 

carrying it backwards and forwards, under his s 

cloak, from his home to the shop, and working < 

at it every moment that he could get, until he { 

had completed a beautiful preparation, which he 
no doubt still possesses, as a trophy of his early 
achievements in this highly attractive and inter- t 

\ esting branch of science. He is now a physician 

in one of the Atlantic cities, with a large prac- \ 

\\ tice. \ 

Two of these apprentice boys are now clergy- 
men, one became a surgeon in the army, two are 
regular practising physicians, and the other has 
\ passed beyond our observation. \ 

Self-education is something very different from X 

mere reading by way of amusement. It requires X 

prolonged and laborious study. The cultivation 
\ of a taste for reading is all very well ; but mere \ 

t reading does little toward advancing any one in \ 

s the world — little toward preparing him for a 

higher station than the one he fills. The knowl- j 

edge which fits a man for eminence in any pro- 
fession or calling, is not acquired without patient, ] 
long-continued, and earnest application. Read- 
ing is resorted to by very many as a means of i 



J 



SELF-EDUCATION. 77 \ 

J 

making an idle hour pass more pleasantly ; others I 

have a natural desire to obtain information on a i 

variety of subjects, and read, for the gratification J 

of that desire, history, biography, travels, and s 

the current publications on all the various sub- j 

jects that generally interest readers of taste and i 

intelligence. The first class are mainly novel- ? 

readers. These, if they do not actually stand ) 

still, make but little advance in intellectual in> s 

provement. Between theatre-going, visiting, and 5 

this kind of reading, nearly all their leisure time s 

is spent. Such persons generally make agreea- i 

ble companions in mixed companies, where con- \ 

versation is light and rambling. They have some \ 

taste, from reading so much about matters of > 

taste in works of fiction, and from being familiar J 

with criticisms on the stage ; and have a very \ 

good idea of the current events of the day. £ 

Such characters are very good in their place; \ 

but they do not help to advance, except with, it \ 

may be, the force of a little finger, the great J 

movements of the age. Still they generally have i 

a very good opinion of themselves, and trade $ 

quite extensively on their small intellectual capital. \ 

The other class of readers alluded to are of a \ 

higher order ; but their reading does not amount ? 

to a great deal more than to make them think \ 

themselves far more intelligent than the mass ;> 



i 



\ /5 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. J 

I \ 

< of Ae people, unless what they acquire be made 

< useful somewhere in their ordinary pursuits (> 
$ in life. And here we would remark, that it is < 
\ the use to which a man can apply what he < 
i receives, that determines its real value ; and that \ 
S but little of sterling worth can be received, ex- \ 
\ cept by an earnest and concentrated effort of the I 
\ mind. \ 
\ Mere reading, therefore, although of impor- \ 
\ tance in itself, as a means of enlarging our ideas \ 
? and correcting and refining our tastes, does not \ 
5 give a man much power — does not help him to ? 
J rise above the position in which circumstances § 

< may have originally placed him. It is study that ) 
s does this. Franklin the printer's boy did not 

become Franklin the philosopher and statesman, \ 

\ by reading only, but by study ; and we do nor 5 

'? hear of his studying under teachers, and oi j 

5 being guided by them — for, like many of you, he '? 

s did not possess these high advantages, — but his j 

I education progressed under the supervision of s 

$ his own mind. He had to feel his way along, ) 

\ and to correct his own errors, ever and anon, as J 

\ the dawning of fresh light enabled him to see ) 

\ them. And you may do the same ; you, with '? 

') few acquirements now, and few opportunities, \ 

\ may, if you only will it, become as useful and em- 

i inent a man as Franklin. But you must work i 

I \ 



SFLF-EDUCATION. 79 

ijt it. Diligently and earnestly must you labor, 
or you cannot stand side by side, in after years, 
with the men who have become distinguished for 
the important services they have been able to 
render their fellows. 

In regard to self-education, no specific rules 
can be laid down, nor any course of study 
pointed out. All will depend upon the capacity, 
situation, and peculiar character of the individ- 
ual. Inherent in every one is a capacity for the 
doing of some one thing better than another ; 
and in the exercise of this natural ability every 
man attains his true place in society. From a,, 
common perception of this fact, it has become 
a habit with judicious parents and guardians to 
consult the youth under their charge in regard ) < 
to their future calUngs, and to be governed very < 

much by the preferences they express. One lad, 
who feels the necessity of improving himself, \ 

may turn all his thoughts, and direct all his in- i 

vestigations, toward gaining a knowledge of } 

the principles upon which the branch of art he s 

may be engaged in learning is founded, in order s 

that, when he becomes a man, he may, with more j; 

intelligence and certainty of success, prosecute j> 

his trade. Whoever does this may depend upon ? 

finding full scope for all the knowledge he thus $ 

acquires, and be sure of rising above hi? less $ 



80 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

ambitious fellows. Another may look away from 
his trade, and be emulous of distinction in some 
other pursuit, and this will give a different direc- 
tion to his course of study ; and he will become a 
statesman or a merchant, or, it may be, rise into 
some one of the learned professions ; for to rise 
above the great mass, who will not apply them- 
selves, is the unfailing result of patient and thor- 
ough self-education. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 



< Music, dancing, and a truly polished and > 

i graceful manner in social intercourse, with a 

\ knowledge of those modes and forms that are 

I founded upon a just regard of man for man, s 

which prevail in society, are known as accom- \ 

J plishments. With regard to the first of these, 

■I there is but little difference of opinion ; the sec- 

[ ond has many warm advocates, and many bitter 

and unrelenting opponents, who see in it evil, 
? and only evil ; and there are some who appear to 

) think any serious regard to the latter, especially j 

)> " J 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS 81 



the making of rules for observance, a sign of j 

weakness and folly. ) 

As respects music, it is clear to us, that, if a < 

young man have any taste at all in that way, he J 

ought by all means to cultivate it. It will not .; 

only extend greatly his own means of enjoyment, \ 

but give him the power of contributing much to s 

the enjoyment of others. We do not think it ;> 

would be wise for him to devote all his leisure < 

time to music, to the neglect of other and graver \ 

pursuits ; but there are times when the mind \ 

wearies of thought, and will be refreshed and \ 

strengthened to attempt new efforts, if its slum- s 

bering affections be awakened into life and activ- J 

ity by music. While words give utterance to s 
the thoughts of the mind, music expresses its 

affections ; and thoughts when uttered, and feel- j; 

ings when expressed, are in greater fulness and j; 

power. So well satisfied are we that there is J 

great use in the cultivation of music, that we \ 

believe all men who are ignorant of the science \ 

have defects which no cultivation of the intellect \ 

alone can possibly overcome. \ 

Against dancing much has been urged, but \ 

nothing that we have seen having any basis in \ 

rational truth. It has been called sinful ; but \ 

nothing is sinful except what is done from evil 5 

intent. Some have said that it awakens impure \ 



j 82 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

| thoughts ; but they who allege this either have 5 

I impure minds or have never danced. Such is J 

\ well known not to be the case. It is a frivolous 

£ waste of time, say others, and unworthy the dig- 

) nity of men and women. If it is made to inter- 5 

fere with any duty, it is certainly a waste of \ 

s time ; as to the " dignity," the objection will be l 

I] worth considering, when it is understood in what ] 

a man's true dignity consists. It is a fact worthy J 

of observation, that the most strenuous opposers < 

-. of dancing are those who have least charity, so J 

called, for their neighbors ; and that one of these i 

persons will spend an evening in animadverting i 

I upon the faults and foibles of others, and indul- A 

) ging in a spirit of ill-will and censoriousness, 

while those engaged in dancing during the time 
J have been blessing each other with a spontaneous \ 

and generous reciprocation of the kindest feel- 
ings. It is a bitter spirit, indeed, that does not > 
jj feel kindly emotions while threading the graceful 
\ mazes of a cotillon, every step and every motion 
] of the body harmonizing with sweet music. ^ 
\ The whole truth, in regard to the objections 
s against dancing which prevail, lies in the fact 
that it is erroneously imagined that all pleasures 
\ are incompatible with religion, than which there] / 
f cannot possibly be a greater mistake. They 
? pleasures of sense are not evil in themselves. 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 



83 



out good : the evil lies in their perversion and ? 

abuse. The partaking of food is a highly-grati- • 2 

fying sensual pleasure; but it is not evil, except I 

where eating is abused to the injury of the health. I 

It cannot be evil for the ear, so finely attuned, j 

to take in the harmonies of music ; although for ) 

any one to neglect all the duties of life in giving s 

himself up to the enjoyment of music, would J 

certainly be a great evil. It cannot be evil to ? 

enjoy the odor of sweet flowers, nor to delight in I 

... r s 

viewing an exquisite picture, or piece ot statuary, [> 

or a beautiful landscape ; and yet these are all s 

pleasures of the senses, so called, though in re- \ 

ality the pleasures of the soul, as it looks out \ 

upon and hearkens unto the world of nature, and < 

there sees and hears those things that correspond \ 

to affections and principles in itself. The law ? 

of our spiritual constitution is, that all things of 

the mind come into their fullest power and de- J 

light in the lowest or sensual plane ; and all who 

hinder in any way this descent of the soul into < 

the orderly plane of its activity, destroy much of \ 

] its vital force, and take away its power of clear 

intellectual discrimination. \ 
Dancing is nothing more nor less than grace- 

\ ful movements of the body in time with music, ■> 

and is joined in by two, three, or a much greater J 

t *4imber, all acting in concert. The lightening <! 



\ 84 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

b j 

eye, the glowing cheek, and the smiling lip, 

I attest the pleasure that is felt by each. A 

'<] pleasure in what? In consummating an evil J 

<> purpose ? None will say that. There is de- 
light, and it must be either in good or evil. J 

$ Is it in evil ? And if so, in what does it con- 

J sist ? The dancers are virtuous maidens and 

s young men of good principles, who, to the sound s 

<j of music, have arranged themselves upon the s 

«; floor, and are moving their bodies in harmony § 

!> with it. It is not evil, we unhesitatingly say, i 

J out good ; for it is always good for the mind to !; 

i flow down into external acts that are in thern- 

s selves innocent, and encourage kindness and 

I good-will from one toward another ; and this is i 

s precisely what occurs in dancing. The objec- J 

i tions against its abuse are as good as objections 

\ against the abuse of any thing else, but no better. 

jj Another use of dancing is, that it gives a young I 



I man an easier and more graceful carriage, with i 

j more freedom in his social intercourse. It also jj 

\ aids him in acquiring a self-possession in com- J 

J pany, which is so necessary for the pleasure of \ 

( all, yet so hard to attain in mere conversational ? ? 

\ circles, or even in the half-awkward promenade, J 

) into which a stiff and formal sitting party is J 

i sometimes broken up by an effort, soon to sub- i 

s side again into its score of little circles, all de- \ 



~> 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 85 



i ached from the rest, and feeling nothing in com- \ 

mon with the whole. '<> 

By all means, take lessons in dancing, if you \ 

have not yet done so, we would say to every ) 

young man. Don't let an awkward bashfulness ;> 

prevent your doing so ; for it is one of the very ) 

best means you can adopt for its correction. < 

You are a social being, and are bound to mingle ? 

in society, both for your own good and the good I; 

of others. You are under obligation to give \ 

vour quota to the general enjoyment, and under ^ 

a like obligation to take your own in return, for J 

the sake of that healthy flow of spirits so essen- s 

tial to the right performance of all our duties in £ 

life. And, unless you have those accomplish- i 

ments that are common in polite society, you ^ 

can neither give nor receive all the benefits that |> 

spring from right social intercourse. ^ 

The laws of etiquette, or those conventional ^ 

forms of good breeding, which prevail in society. \ 
when they are founded upon a just regard of 

man for man, should always be observed. Among «: 

these laws, as found in books of etiquette, are i; 

many which have in them no vital principle \ 
which are the mere offspring of a sickly pride. y (> 

They maj be known from the fact tha«, tjey are i 

not based upon a generous consideration of oth- ) 



OO ADVICE TO YOUNG MEtf. \ 

\ 

ers. These may be observed or not, as any one \ 

thinks best ; and, when among those who make \ 

it a point to observe them, we should think it \ 

wise not to interrupt the general good feeling by \ 
their violation, unless a principle were involved. 
It is not wrong in itself to drink tea from your 

saucer instead of your cup, nor to eat with your < 

knife instead of your fork ; still, as these are I 

usages of polite society, a man of good common i 

sense will observe them when in company, no £ 

matter how partial he may be to his knife and •; 

saucer. i 

We would recommend to every young man to £ 
read carefully one or more books on etiquette 

and good-breeding, and thereby acquaint him- < 

yfeelf with the laws that are observed in polite so- > 

ciety. We would not, however, advise him to ? 

adopt all the forms and observances there laid ? 

down, but to take each one, and analyze it care- 5 

fully, and see upon what it is based — pride or $ 

the kind consideration of others ; and where he ( 

finds that a violation of the law will subject any j 
one to unnecessary pain or annoyance, he should 

carefully obey it under all circumstances. I 

A true gentleman — that is, one who really \ 

regards with feelings of disinterested kindness \ 

his fellow-man — will rarely commit any glaring J 



ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 87 



| violation of good manners. To such a one the < 

! study of those rules established as usages in po- j 
\ lite society, will afford much matter for reflec- 
\ tion, and he will readily distinguish between 
/ the good and the bad. He will find much that 

i I is the mere offspring of pride, vanity, and a \ 

j ! fancied idea of importance ; but he will find 4 

\ much more that is based upon a just regard of } 

< man for man. We were particularly struck with J 
the closing paragraph of a book of this kind, /, 

i which contains much more than a fair proportion $ 

\ of bad reasons for observing some very good \ 

\ rules. It is as follows : " Gentility is neither J 
s in birth, manner, nor fashion, but in the mind. 

\ A high sense of honor — a determination never \ 

s 1 to take a mean advantage of another — an adhe- J 

< rence to truth, delicacy, and politeness toward i 
\ those with whom you have any dealings, are 

the essential and distinguishing characteristics \ 

) Of a GENTLEMAN." J 

This is every word true. A man may have the \ 

most accurate knowledge of all the rules of eti- J 

quette, and most carefully observe them ; but if \ 



he have not the above qualities, he is not a gen- 
tleman. 



5 



\ 88 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



CHAPTER IX 



AMUSEMENTS. 



Every young man should enter upon life with 
J an earnest purpose. He will have need of pa- 5 

s tience, fortitude, energy, and intense thought, in V 

\ overcoming the difficulties that must be encoun- \ 

rj tered before his day of trial be over. Life has 

i been called a warfare, and truly so caiied. It is 

a warfare with enemies both within and with- 
out — enemies of the flesh and enemies of the 
spirit. He has to contend, in the world, against 
the selfishness that would crush every man's in- \ 
terest in the attainment of its own ends ; and to \ 
contend with the same spirit of selfishness in his { 
own heart, that is ever prompting him to seek < 
an advantage at the sacrifice of others' good. s 

Happy for him if, when he fall into temptation, 5 

he do not fall in temptation, but stand fast by 
his integrity. I 

" If life, then, be so grave a matter, what 5 
has man to do with amusements?" we hear I 

asked. " In these conflicts with foes within and < 

without, one would think the heart could nevei 



.•v-«r»-u--n. 



AMUSEMENTS, 



89 



heave up with a glad emotion, the eye never 
I brighten, nor the lip smile." 

And such could never be the case, if the strife 
i were incessant — if, after a fierce conflict, there 

? did not come a season of repose, in which both 5 

i mind and body could rest, and be refreshed and \ 

\ invigorated for new combats. It has been as- \ 

sumed — and it is evidently a true position — that \ 

\ inaction is not the rest that re-invigorates the ex- ? 

> ? hausted energies of either the mind or body, but \ 

e a new direction of effort, by which new muscles £ 

i of the body, or new faculties of the mind, are s 

$ brought into activity. The true repose, then, < 

i which should follow every life-conflict — and they <j 

I are of almost daily occurrence — is an entire di- $ 

^ . b 

J version of the thoughts and feelings into some \ 

s new channel. If this be not done, there can be \ 

\ no rest ; for the current of thought will flow on I 

j unchecked, until the mind becomes diseased, and \ 

i loses half its power. ] 

And herein we see the use of amusements, or s 

> . - s 

< those innocent employments that divert the mind, ) 

\ and fill it with pleasing emotions. After the i 

i business of the day is over, these come in their ? 

natural order, to refresh and strengthen for new f 

efforts ; and it is more in accordance with the \ 

\ dictates of right reason to seek for re-invigora~ < 

\ tion in these than in dull inaction. To play a \ 

s 



---"*— 



\ 90 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



game of draughts or chess will do a man more 
good, after a day of labor and care, than to 
spend his evening in lounging on the sofa. And 
he will find the gay doings of a social party of 
far more benefit to him, if he make one of, and 
enter into the spirit of that party, than he will to 
sit out his evening, brooding over the disappoint- 
ments and crosses of to-day, or sadly contem 
plating the trials of to-morrow. 

Amusements, therefore, we hold to be essential 
to the health of both body and mind. But, like 
every other good, they are liable to be perverted ; 
and the young are more in danger of perverting 
them than those who have passed the prime of 
life. Nearly all the various amusements, public 
and private, that are entered into at this day, are 
innocent and useful in themselves, although some 
of them are sadly perverted to evil ends. Dan- 
cing, games, concerts, the opera, scenic repre- 
sentations, etc., are all good in themselves, and 
may be enjoyed innocently and beneficially by 
all. In cards, for instance, there is no evil ab- 
stractly, nor in a game of cards ; but gambling 
is a great evil — one from which every honest 
mind shrinks with horror. When made a schooJ 
of morals, the stage is a powerful teacher of 
truth, because it shows us vice or virtue in living 
personifications ; but as it now is, we are com- 



AMUSEMENTS. 



91 



j pelled to acknowledge that it is a poor place of I 

< resort for the strengthening of virtuous princi- J 
j pies. \ 
\ At all suitable times, young men will find it ) 

useful to seek for recreations and innocent \ 
] amusements. It will give their minds a health- 

> ier tone, and bring them into associations differ- ] 
f ent from business associations, by which they 5 
s will be able to see new phases of character, and s 
§ judge more kindly of their fellows. In business, s 
c each one seeks his own interest ; there is no i 
i generous deference to the interests of others, i 

and men grow daily more and more selfish ; but j> 

\ in social intercourse, one defers to another ; \> 

< there is the form of self-sacrifice for the good of ? ? 

< others, at least, and we would fain believe no s 
j| little of its essence. J^ 
\ From this brief presentation of the subject, «| 

every one must see that the views taken by \ 

f those who inveigh against amusements, as f 

\ . 5 

either sinful or entirely useless, are erroneous, ■> 

s and founded upon false notions of man's moral s 

i nature. Our life here is for the development < 

§ and perfection of our characters as immortal i 

I beings, created originally in true order, and now ? 

> afforded all possible means for a return to true > 
5 order. In true order, every affection of the < 

mind, when it comes into activity, produces de- jj 



92 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEW. \ 



| light ; and as a love of good is the vital princi- \ 

) pie of true order, when man is restored to what j 

\ he has lost, his highest and purest delight will be [ 

s in doing good. Delight or pleasure, then, is not \ 

^ evil, but good, provided it does not flow from the \ 

consummation of an evil purpose. It is the J 

£ healthy reaction of the mind upon orderly effort, i 

i and strengthens and prepares it for new and ^ 

J higher efforts. Take away all delight as the re- £ 

ward of effort, and see how quickly the cheek f s 



£ fades and the eye grows dim ! < 

$ If, then, delight or pleasure be not wrong in £ 

s the abstract, the seeking of amusements, as means i 

i of recreation, after the mind is overwearied by \ 

S • _5 

s long and oft-repeated efforts, cannot be wrong ; 

and this every mind not sadly warped by false views i 

^ must see. But to seek amusements as a means s 

j> of " killing time," as some do, or as the occupa- Jj 

i tions instead of the occasional recreations of life, < 

\ is to pervert them from their true object, and to [ 

\ make them highly injurious, instead of beneficial. \ 

\ To engage, night after night, in a trial of skill in ) 

games, — to spend two or three evenings every ) 

i week at balls and parties, or attending theatric or < 

J operatic performances,^ — must enervate instead < 

\ of strengthening the mind, and will inevitably ? 

{ hinder any young man from rising into distin- ? 

guished positions of usefulness in society. After , 

[___._ ! 



? ascetics, we have a steady warfare upon all 

5 amusements. 

) It may be well to look a little closer at some of 

\ the popular sources of recreation, and to examine 

their quality. The true end of all amusement is, 

> as we have seen, that recreation of the mind 
I , ! which will enable it the better to perform its use- 

> ful tasks when the hour of duty returns. It 



AMUSEMENTS. 93 \ 

the business of the day, the mind will ordinarily \ 

find a means of healthy reaction in intellectual 4 

pursuits, which form a part of some leading pur- \ 

pose by which a man's life is governed; amusements \ 

come in as occasional means of restoring the wasted > 

energies, and should be entered into at intervals, I; 

as absolutely essential to the continued healthy ;> 

activity of our minds. s 

There are boys so hardly circumstanced, as to s 

be deprived of nearly all amusements at an age \ 

when work and play should each come in right \ 

order. These are apt to make men who have little \ 

sympathy for young people, and who regard all '\ 

amusements as waste of time, and enervating to ;j 

the character. They constantly refer back to their < 

own uncheered boyhood as evidence that amuse- s 

ments are valueless ; not thinking that the very > 

aspect they show to the world is one of the strong j; 

arguments in favor of their balancing influence. % 

From men of this class, as well as from religious ? 



94 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



should come up from them re-invigorated; and <j 

this can hardly be the case, if there should be in \ 

them anything that excites low, sensual, or impure •> 

emotions ; or that insinuates false sentiments on jj 

any subject. Among the most prominent and ;> 

popular of all our public amusements, is the the- «j 

atre. How is it in regard to the ideas and emo- J 

tions that are called into activity here ? Are they, i 

as a general- thing, pure, elevating, and virtuous ? i 

or, on the contrary, depressing to the moral sense ? j> 

Is the wit that makes you laugh, refined or coarse ? £ 

Are the passions, in the display of which you are 5 

most interested, cruel or tender ? How do you < 

come up from the theatre ? With all nobler im- 5 

pulses strengthened, or, with images in your ima- j; 

gi nation that you would blush to have revealed ? > 

We fear that, for the most part, your experience I 
of the drama, as it now exists, cannot be presented 

as an argument in its favor. The evil overbalances < 

the good ; to say nothing of the doors to vice and s 

intemperance which there stand invitingly open. > 

An occasional visit to the theatre may be well ; ? 

but it should be when talent of the highest avail- I 

able order is presented, so that the new excitement 5 

of mind under which you are brought, may par- I 

take more of the intellectual than the sensuous. L 

But regular theatre-going we must condemn as \ 



AMUSEMENTS. 95 «! 

i t 

\ not only dangerous, but depressing to the moral '<; 

sense, and enervating to the whole mind. / i 

) If, therefore, you wish to make a strong, useful, \ 

5 successful man in the world, no matter what your \ 

life pursuit may be, attend the theatre rarely. s 

As to the opera, that has its good and also its s 

J bad points. Music is innocent. But most of the ( 

\ librettos to which it is wedded in opera, are dis- , \ 

\ gracefully vicious. The most effective portions \ 

\ of an opera are usually, those in which passions ] 

of the worst kind are displayed or indicated. The < 

I loves, hates, lusts, jealousies, and murderous pas- \ 

sions of outlaws, libertines, and courtezans, too \ 

i often make up the larger portion of musical ex- ? 

pression in these fashionable entertainments, which e 

are not indigenous to our own soil, but the stim- I 

ulated exotics of another clime. It is surprising s 

how much enthusiasm virtuous people permit s 

themselves to exhibit in favor of certain operas, < 

which, it has often seemed to us, they might well \ 

blush to have it known they had seen. The saving ) 

clause in all this, is the fact that the singing is )' 

mostly in Italian or French, not a word of which ) 

one in ten of the audiences usually understand. J 

It is because the opera is fashionable, not from \ 

a genuine love of that class of music in the mass l 

of those who attend, that it is so popular. The \ 



number who really enjoy the good music to which 



96 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. <j 

; stupid, trifling, or bad sentiments are wedded, is \ 

but small. Do not, then, fall into the error of 5 

professing to admire and enjoy something that \ 
\ really interests you but little, and which attracts 
J large numbers by its imposing accessories, more 

; than from any other cause. Your amusements J 

> should always strengthen your mind in some di- \ 
\ rection ; or, in the excitement of gentle, loving, > 

humane, and generous sentiments, make you more ? 
I a man of true sympathy with your fellow men 

\ when, in business or social contact, your life acts s 

i upon theirs. s 
\ You will not have failed to notice, that the 

i staple of conversation among some young men is \ 

the histrionic ability of certain actors and actresses, 

j which they criticise with a gravity that would J 

s lead you to think them possessed of extraordinary $ 

£ talents. Do not fall into the weakness of giving i 

such undue importance to what is really a small < 

'• interest in society. j 

> Actors are well enough in their way, and so far ^ 
< as they conduct themselves honorably in private | 
s life, are to be respected. But their calling throws j 

them into temptations beyond what usually assail 

\ men and women who have to depend on their own < 

) efforts to make their way in the world, and the \ 

personal history of the stage has been much in- '? 

I volved in scandals. The constant introduction of i> 

1 „„„ I 






AMUSEMENTS. 97 ) 

? 

the names of players, and the giving of undue \ 

importance to their stage readings and perform- i 

ances, are scarcely in good taste; and the individual I 

who does this frequently, when in the company J 

of intelligent, thoughtful people, will leave on their ■! 

minds the impression that he thinks a great deal J 

more of such matters than is consonant with a i 

solid, well based character. \ 

Criticism on the various performers who nightly j» 

sport in fantastic costumes before their audiences, s 

occupy far more space in our daily and weekly s 

newspapers than ought in truth and fairness to be J 

given. If the public understood these to be no- 4 

thing more than advertisements, they would be in > 

the way of forming more correct estimates. But J 

while such amusements continue to be held up by i 

the press, as things of primary importance, the \ 

unobservant and unreflecting will be led into con- \ 

sidering actors, actresses, tenors, and prima don- \ 

nas as distinguished personages, and their com- I; 

parative merits a subject worthy of the gravest \ 

consideration. \> 

Do not, as we have said, fall into the error or ;J 

weakness of making too prominent, in your con- < 

versation, the merits of this class of persons. 4 

They are all very well in their way ; but there are 1 

men and women all around you, in public and pri- \ 

vate life, whose talents and performances axe a \ 



98 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. ) 

; ; < 

!* thousand times more worthy of your thought. s 

\ As you regard amusements, so regard those who s 

\> minister to this want of your nature, as entitled < 

to rank always second to those who are engaged 5 
£ in the higher and more important uses of society. 

Do not confound things. Let the first in utility ^ 

{] always have precedence in your regard. ;-. 

? The effect of amusements on your state of mind < 

s will always indicate their utility or hurtfulness. < 

< If, after their enjoyment, you return to your reg- <; 

\ ular duties, with a mind reinvigorated and cheer- i 

ful, then they have done you good. But, if the $ 

!; useful things that demand your care and labor :< 
i seem afterwards tame and irksome, and your 

I thought wanders away from them to the evening's s 

;, entertainments, then you may well question their !; 

j good influence. Beware, in this case, how you i 

J let mere amusement and recreation make large \ 

\ demands on your leisure time: for you are in dan- $ 

'i ger of being drawn away from that abiding interest < 

i in useful employments by which alone man rises < 

I in the scale of worldly prosperity, or becomes hon- \ 
\ orable and happy. 

It is the habit, to which we have referred, of \ 
\ making actors, singers, and others, who minister 

\ to our recreations, leading topics of conversation 5 

that elevates mere amusement to an undue import- ; 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 99 

ance, and tends to make useful things appear tame 
\ and uninviting. And whatever has this tendency, 

} should be avoided. Things right in their place, 

may be hurtful when taken out of their just rela- 
5 tions. ■ 



CHAPTER X. 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 



There are two kinds of self-government, or 
the controlling of evil and disorderly propensi- 
ties — the one springing from a regard to external 
considerations, such as the love of reputation, 
ease, or wealth, and the other from an abstract 
regard to right principles. Self-government, 
from the first of these considerations, which is 
that which most prevails in common society, 
does not give a man any real power over him- 
self. His inward disorders are only caged as 
wild beasts, not subdued and brought under 
the control of opposite good principles; and 



100 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



when these restraints cease, they show them- 

■elves again with renewed power and activity. 

jj We see this in those who have attained an ad- 5 

> ranced age, without truly, and from an internal j 
$ ground, reforming the leading impulses of their J 

lives. How melancholy a sight it is to see an ir- \ 

I ritable, impatient, passionate old man ! and this j 

<j every one is sure to become, if life is prolonged <j 

\ to second childhood, who does not subdue his ir- \ 

> ritability, impatience, and passion, by struggling 

> against them as evil tendencies of a corrupt na- s 
ture, instead of merely concealing them from <! 
others in his ordinary intercourse in life, when it <; 
answers his purpose to do so, that his reputation 5 
may be preserved, or his selfish ends answered. > 

> Extreme old age is called second childhood. > 
^ The reason of this designation is supposed to be s 
j> in a resemblance between the imbecility of old age \ 
< and the helplessness of childhood. But a much s 
s higher and more instructive truth is at the basis \ 
J of this supposed resemblance. A child is born in <; 

the innocence of ignorance, which is man's first $ 
\ state : there is a likeness to this in his last state, 

if his life have been an orderly progression from I 

5 reformation to regeneration ; or, in other words, <! 

\ if he have, after the laying, in early life, of a basis \ 

of scientific truths, both natural and spiritual, by \ 

^ means of parents and teachers, elevated these \ 



>vl 



\ SELF-GOVERNMENT. 101 \ 

\ \ 

\ truths, by a rational adoption and practise of \ 

them, into knowledge in his mind in mature life, '< 

and by the aid of them corrected the tendencies ^ 

\ to evil in which he was born. This likeness to ) 

\ childhood — which is a state of innocence from f <! 

> ignorance — is a state of innocence from wisdom. ^ 

j Imbecility is not the natural condition of old § 

;i age, but wisdom ; which comes as the invariable ? 

consequence of a life well spent. But, alas ! \ 

\] , how few spend their lives well ! how few are £> 

\ governed by a regard for good and true princi- ^ 

i pies ! how few strive for the attainment of ends <) 

i not thoroughly selfish ! and the melancholy result k 

b is, that few who attain old age, when the very ? 

\, life's love shows itself more plainly than at any [\ 

\ other time, because less regard is then felt for § 

\ external considerations, are in the innocence of i 

\ wisdom. (> 

\ The love of self is disorderly, as we showed i 

*? in the chapter on man's origin, nature, and des- \ 

jj tiny, and has in it the germ of all evils, no matter !j 

5 how direful. All insanities, therefore, which are i 

I states of disorder more or less excessive, have ? 

<; their origin in self-love. They cannot spring \ 



from a love of God and a love of the neighbor. 
Is it any wonder, then, that, after a man has pur- 
sued only selfish ends all his life, that in old age 
there should be something of insanity, or mental 



102 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



imbecility, as a natural result? But a strife 
against the evils and disorders of our nature, 

> and a conquest of them, restores us to something 
£ of true order, in which we love the good of the 

whole, and seek it as an end, rather than our 
£ own good, as separate from the whole. A state ; 

I of wisdom, instead of partial insanity, comes in 

s old age, and life declines with the sun unob- \ 

scured by clouds, calm as a summer's day. 
{ To make all we wish to say clear, we will re- 

s mark, that there are two states appertaining to \ 

the human mind — intellection and perception ; 

and that the latter succeeds the former. We 
I first have a truth presented to our minds ; then 

we canvass it, and compare it with relations and 
I opposites, by means of the intellect or rational 

power of the mind ; and after all this takes 

jj place, and we begin to regulate our lives by it, \ 

X we have a clear perception that it is true, which ^ 

J no argument can obscure. Now, consider life i 

t & \ 

> as a whole, and all truths necessary for man's < 

elevation as one truth. First, in his early days, 

\ this truth is taught to him, and it is a matter of j 

< memory only ; in mature years, he views it on \ 

all sides, canvasses it, tries it by all available i 

standards, and, determining its quality, makes it i 

the guide of his life. Old age comes on, and ) 
the intellect rests from its labors, in a clear per- 



k~ 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 



103 



> ception of the great truth of his whole life ; 
and this is a state of wisdom — the innocence 

,< of wisdom. What is the opposite of this state 

I we have already deckred ; and limited indeed 

\ must have been his observation, who has not 

J; seen all around him the sad evidences of its 

5 existence. 

j From what has now been advanced, the great 

\ importance of right self-government may be 

J clearly seen. Every young man will discover in 

himself disorderly tendencies, and a disposition 
\ to infringe the rights and comforts of others, in 
c seeking his own gratification. These are all 

i evils, and must come under proper control, from 

•• right ends, or old age will find him, at last, with 

I a host of ungovernable impulses struggling in 

J his bosom, and overmastering him in every feeble 

I effort he makes to subdue them. 

Right ends are a regard to others' good as 

well as our own ; and this regard may be felt and 

> exercised as much in an effort to reform a habit 
? of mind that acts as a hinderance to success in 
I the world, as in the shunning of an evil that di- 
rectly injures our fellow-man ; for any thing that 

J interferes with our success circumscribes our 

I means of usefulness. 

We hardly deem it necessary to enter into any 

> minute particulars as to the manner of self 



104 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

government. Every one understands enough of I 

his own character to see its defects; and when he 
understands the great importance of correcting 
these, and controlling those propensities, habits, 
and inclinations that stand in the way of his ele- 
vation, both as to things external and things that 
appertain to his mind, he will not be at a loss how 
to act. The willingness to act is the great desid- 
eratum. 

But one or two illustrations may help the young 
man who really desires to get the mastery over 
himself, to some thoughts in the right direction. 

Thomas II had, naturally, an impatient 

temper. This was his greatest defect of charac- 
ter, and often overshadowed the finer qualities of 
his mind, destroying his influence for good in po- 
ll sitions and under circumstances where that influ- 
ence could have been of lasting value. The first 
] efforts which he made to overcome this hasty tern- \ 

per, after reaching to years of manhood, were in- 
spired by the feeling of shame at the weakness he 
displayed, while under excitement. Of course, 
the shame was as to intensity, in the degree that 
he valued the good opinion of those before whom 
he betrayed his infirmity. This led him to the 
exercise of self-control from a merely external and 
selfish consideration ; and chiefly when in the pre- 5 

sence of those before whom he wished to appear 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 105 ^ 

j 

well. He did not, under this system of repres- 
sion, gain any true power over himself. The evil 

was not reduced in potency, only hidden when it ] 

was felt that its exhibition would be an injury to \ 

himself. < 

At home, Thomas R was as irritable as j] 

ever ; and this gave proof that he was only cov- 
ering up his natural defect of character ; not \ 
changing it through a resolute opposition based on ;> 
principle. [> 

This kind of self-government, having its origin 

in pride, shame, or self interest, and not in a just \ 

regard for others, gives a man no true power over i 

himself. The fire still smoulders within, and $ 

sooner or later breaks out into consuming flames. (> 

The moment he feels that disguise is no longer ) 

required, a man becomes his true self again, and \ 

you see that the virtue for which he received ere- < 

dit, was only an assumed exterior. <; 

As Thomas R mingled more largely in so- j 

ciety, he felt the necessity of guarding, with in- i 

creased care, his quick temper. Its exhibitions 5 

would not only bring him into trouble, but lessen < 
that good opinion he was desirous to secure. He 
felt that he was really overcoming his weakness, 

and congratulated himself, on many occasions, j 
when, under strong provocation, he managed to 

keep down his fiery impulses, and maintain a com- I 



106 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 5 

\ ... 1 

I posed exterior. But all this repression was from \ 
\ the outside, not from an interior principle. He \ 
£ did not master himself, because it was an evil thing v 
to act from mere passion ; but he used bit and bri- 
dle to hold down his struggling impulses, lest in s 
their exhibition he should suffer the loss of some J; 
external good things that were highly valued. \ 
\ It must be plain to the reader, that Thomas i 

\ R was not really governing himself to any \ 

permanent good purpose. That he was not grow- s 

\ ing less irritable in disposition, but only concealing < 

a hereditary defect, which every high considera- <; 

tion required him to overcome. As if to warn ? 

< him of his error, this impatient spirit would, on 
occasions when he happened to be less watchful ;'• 

> than usual, exhibit itself under circumstances pe- 

\ culiarly mortifying. J 

i " I must be more on my guard," he would say 

< to himself, when suffering the consequent humil- 
s iation ; not — " I must conquer this bad temper, 

because it is an evil thing, and constantly doing J 

hurt to others." It was the hurt to himself that 
troubled him most, not the possession of a quality 
of mind that, wherever it had freedom to act, 
hurt others. And so the inherited defect was 
really gaining power, instead of losing its vitality. I 

It was an enemy lying in wait to enter the > 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 107 

citadel at any moment when the gate was left un- 
guarded. 

The marriage of Thomas R, , that most im- 
portant event in a man's life, removed him from 
the home in which he had lived from childhood, 
and where his true disposition was known to the 
regret of all. Even tempered, rightly disciplined, 
unmoved under provocation, as he appeared to the 
world, the inmates of his old home knew, by the 
memory of too many unpleasant experiences, that he 
was unchanged as to his inner quality. It was a 
relief to father, mother, brothers, and sisters, when 
he went out from among them, and established a 
home for himself; for he had been the centre of 
disturbance, on account of his hasty temper, from 
a child upwards. But for this infirmity, he was 
to be esteemed and valued, for he had a kind heart ; 
and was honorable in his feelings. 

The young lady to whom he was married, had 
been warned of his impatient temper. But he 
managed to conceal it so well during the period 
of courtship, that she believed him to be one of 
the most amiable of men. He never meant to de- 
ceive her. But he did not know himself, nor 
really understand the motives from which he 
acted. It was an easy task to be amiable and even 
tempered while in her company, and it did not 
seem to him that he assumed an exterior N in any 



) 

108 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



case not in agreement with his real character. 
He knew that he was more irritable while at home 
than when any where else ; but this, it seemed to 
him. was in consequence of the irritating causes 

I which ever had been and were still in existence 
there. When in his own home, and with his be- 
loved one for a companion, he felt sure that the 
days would pass in sweet tranquillity, and that, all 

'I exciting causes removed, he would not again re- 
lapse into the unhappy states which had troubled 
him from the days of childhood. 

5 But this, alas ! was a fond delusion, born of 

«; self-love and ignorance as to the real quality of his 
own mind. It was not long after his marriage, 
ere, in an unguarded moment, his impatient tem- 
per showed itself. Something done by his young 

> wife annoyed him so much as to destroy his rnen- 
s tal equilibrium, and he threw at her a few impa- 
le tient, accusing words, which stung her heart, and 
s brought a rain of tears from her eyes. Scarcely 

> was the word uttered, before it was followed by 
{ regret. 

s " Why was I not more guarded ?" he said in his 

thought, and with a feeling of self-rebuke. 

There was a shadow for days in this new home, 
which was to be a paradise of love and tranquillity. 
The young wife's sensitive heart could not recover 
from the painful shock it had received, though 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. 109 J 

1 i 

tenderly her repentant husband carried himself J 

I towards her. He had shown her a new side of his j 

\ character, and the exhibition was frightful to con- I 

> template. A hasty, passionate man ! Could this i 

possibly be true of her husband ? She remem- t 

I bered the long ago warning, and trembled lest it \ 

\ might have been only too well grounded. J 

J " I will be more guarded," resolutely and often J 

«; did the young husband repeat these words to him- \ 

\ self. But this was only touching the evil upon > 

the outside. This was to be the same man that he J 

s had always been. It was not a guard that was > 

\ needed to watch the enemy prisoned in his heart, ;> 

I but the strong arm of principle to dislodge that s 

j enemy. As might naturally be supposed, no very j 

c s long time passed before the guard was relaxed, 4 

\ and then the ever watchful enemy struck fiercely I 

b again. \ 

\ This time, R justified himself in his own ^ 

\ thoughts. His impatience was provoked by the ) 

\ act of his wife ; and though he was sorry to see J 

? her in tears, he said to himself that she deserved <j 

> the sharp rebuke which fell from his lips. Still, I 

\ he resolved to be more guarded ; for it was pain- ? 

s ful to himself to have the sun of love hidden be- !> 

\ neath weeping clouds. i 

It took less than a year for the removal of all s 

disguises. A man is usually himself at home. \ 



110 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

If passionate, tyrannical, overbearing, selfish, or 
sensual, the quality reveals itself fully when he 
withdraws from the public eye, and gives the rein 
to his appetites and impulses. It took a long, sad 

time for the wife of Thomas R, to get in any 

degree reconciled to her husband's infirmity of 
temper, over which he seemed to exercise scarcely 
any control, except when away from home. Then 
he guarded himself for the sake of appearance, 
not that he put on, of design, hypocritical sem- 
blances, but from habit, he assumed a placid ex- 
terior, even under irritating circumstances. 

Thus it came, that he exercised no true self-gov- 
ernment. All the government of himself that 
there was, merely touched the external — it never 
went down to the springs of action. And so, at 
thirty he was the same internally, that he was at 
twenty ; and at forty, he had only learned to hide 
more skillfully the impulses that throbbed with 
undiminished life. In his family, he was the same 
impatient, irritable being that he was years before 
in the home of his boyhood ; and having the 
power, this hasty temper often led him into unjust 
and tyrannical conduct, the effects of which caused 
him, many times, painful regrets and self-condem- 
nation. 

An irritable, impatient father can never have 
the affection of his children. They may fear, but 



SELF-GOVERNMENT. Ill 

cannot respect him ; and where there is no respect, 
there can be no love. It was so with the children 

of Mr. R . As the sons grew to manhood, 

they went to distant cities, repelled by the home 
that should have drawn upon their hearts with a 
strong attraction. At the age of fifty, the patient, 
long-suffering, much enduring wife of Mr. R , 



s her duty done to her children, lay down to rest ] 

s in that quiet sleep from which the awakening is s 

\ beyond the grave, and he was left without sympa- \ 

\ thy or companionship, just at the age when exter- \ 

] nal restraint begins to fail, and a man acts him- < 

;> self out under all circumstances. ;; 

I He grew into a peevish, complaining, irritable [> 

s old man. Not only irritable at home, but every- [> 

where. If jostled on the side-walk, he would ut- < 

'<] ter an angry ejaculation ; if crowded in an omni- s 

? bus or car, or asked to put himself out a little for > 

} another's accommodation, he would chafe and fret \ 

h himself, and show to all his easily besetting sin. c ; 

\ All the lines of his face indicated an impatient $ 

<] spirit, and his mouth seemed always ready to <5 

I utter an angry word. He was a burden and an s 

\ annoyance to every one, in consequence of his <; 

I unhappy disposition ; and when death at last <j 

\ removed him, even his children rejoiced to see him ? 

j laid to rest. 5 

S It would have been wholly different, if he had i 

\ ! 



112 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

government, instead of merely guarding himself. 
If he had gone down to the root of the evil, in- 
stead of merely hiding its effects from the world, 
then he would have become a true man, holding 
passion beneath his feet. A true man, such as 
you, my young friend, may and should become ) 
and to attain to which is worthy of your highest 
ambition, for the noblest of all achievements is a 
man's thorough conquest of himself. 



CHAPTER XL 

S 

S 

i INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 

jj More young men are hindered from arriving 

I at positions of honor and eminent usefulness, by 

\ indolence and want of order, than from any 

J other causes. Nothing great is ever achieved. 

i except by industry and earnest application, com- 

J bined with an orderly arrangement of all the means 

? necessary to the accomplishment of the object in 

\ view. From this may be clearly seen the im- 

jj portance of habits of industry and order. With- 

l out them, little can be done; with them, almost 

i everything. 



INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER 113 ) 

( An active and energetic mind may achieve i 

i much, even where there is great want of order ; j 

> but indolence chains a man down, and keeps < 

I him fast in one position ; it is, therefore the I 
I most serious defect of the two, and should be 

striven against with unwearying perseverance. i 

The want of an adequate purpose is what \ 

s makes a man indolent. The Indian will spend 5 

< days and weeks in slothfulness and iaactivity, jj 
? and to an observer seem the most inefficient and s 

powerless of human beings ; but let the war- < 

|j whoop sound, or a deer go bounding past his wig- \ 

warn, and he is instantly as full of fire, strength, \ 

and endurance as a war-horse. All his slumber- ? 

t ing energies have aroused themselves. He feels s 

the force of an adequate purpose. A man's love j! 

!j is his life; and here we see its illustration. The ;1 

very life's love of the Indian is war and the < 

s chase. In the pursuit of them, every energy of i 

< body and mind is brought into activity. But t 
<] when the tomahawk is buried, or he comes home ? 
s from his hunting-grounds, he sinks into apparent 5 
i imbecility. \ 
I The Indian is a mere savage ; he is but a sin- s 
^ gle remove from the brute ; the instincts of his j 
I nature are his prompters. But civilized man J 

stands far above him, and is, or ought to be, ac- l 

tuated by reason, and not by instinct. His ra* I 



\ 114 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN, 5 

. . . i 

\ tional intelligence should give him the force of I 

J an adequate purpose ; and this it will give him, \ 

: } if he but call in its aid. j 

\ Activity is the result of some end or affection > 

J of the mind. Where no purpose is in the mind, ^ 

\ there is indolence ; but when there is an end in \ 

\ view of sufficient importance, all the powers of \ 

> the mind come into spontaneous activity. Now, \ 

will any young man say that there are not ob- 5 
jects for him to attain, of sufficient importance to 

I awaken him from his habits of indolence, no «j 

matter how much he have confirmed himself in jj 

them ? We know there is not one who does not, j 
at times, feel the necessity of concentrating ev- 
ery energy he possesses upon the accomplishment 

of some end ; but the evil is, the thoughts are < 

\ not kept steadily fixed upon the end, but are al- <; 

\ lowed to wander off to sport with unimportant i 

J things, or to retire in mere idle musings ; and '• 

thence comes indolence ; for if there is no pur- \ 

l pose, there will be no activity. < 

i Tne first thing to be done, in the correction s 

i of this habit, is deliberately to resolve upon § 

s doing something that will require effort, and that >; 

< a prolonged one. Let the object in view be \ 
\ worth attaining, and let there be an end in the i 

< mind beyond its mere attainment — an end of i 
j use. If the end be not one of some importance, j 



INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. Ilf 



there will be danger of its not inspiring the mind ) 

to an energetic continuance of its efforts. i 

In determining the object of pursuit, a good ) 
question for any one to ask of himself is, " In < 
what am I deficient ? " There will be answers J 
enough to this question to awaken up all a ) 
man's energies, and keep them awake for some !; 
time. The next question ought to be, " What \ 
will it be most useful for me first to do?" £ 
When this question is determined, then let the i 
individual determining it resolve that he will s 
pursue the study — for it ought to be the study j 
of something that will give the mind new abilities <| 
to act, either in or out of the life-calling in £ 
which he may be engaged — with diligence, !j 
until he have acquired all that is necessary for \ 
the attainment of the end in view. And let him J 
also resolve, that he will fight against all his nat- 
ural habits of indolence and indisposition to ef- J 
fort, that have too long hindered his progress. \ 
And let him not only make these resolutions, i 
but let him keep them faithfully, as he values V 
his highest and best interests. ;> 

Most of us sleep too much. From six and a \ 

half to seven hours' sleep, in the twenty-four, are ) 

said by physicians to be all that a healthy man «! 

requires. Not more than ten or twelve hours ? ? 

are taken up in business, nor should be. Prop- i 



116 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN i 

\ > 

5 erly-directed effort will do as much in that time 

£ as it could possibly do if more hours were con- 

'] sumed in business ; for the mind, over-wearied, J 

e day after day, in bending itself in one direction, \ 

\ will lose its ability for making right efforts. In \ 

\ every twenty-four hours, therefore, there are from J 

\ five to six or seven hours, which every man is s 

\ under obligation to both society and himself to 

turn to some good account. He is insane if he 

£ spend it in mere slothfulness and pleasure-taking. i 
In rightly improving this time, every young 

man, who is earnestly seeking to unfold the native 

i energies of his mind by giving it the food which ^ 

s God designed that it should receive, will soon 

5 discover, that, after a night's repose, his mind is 5' 

s clearer and more vigorous than after a day spent ^ 

\ in labor, and, perhaps, anxiety ; and he will nat- { 

\ urally seek to give as much time for study in the 

\ morning as possible. Early rising will bring to I 

I him a twofold benefit ; it will strengthen both j 

5 mind and body. s 

\ To a young man who has acquired the habit of s 

J indulging himself in morning slothfulness, it will be < 

$ something of a trial to rise at five o'clock, in both < 

i winter and summer ; but the self-denial practised 

\ in doing this will be so fully repaid, in a little while \ 

> that we are sure no one, who has awakened up to \ 

\ the responsibility of his position, and the incalcu- \ 



\ INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 117 

I I able benefits that must result from efforts such as 

I he is making, will sink down again into dis- 
graceful indolence. It is no hardship to rise 

i early ; it only requires an effort at first ; and when 

'I one is fairly awake, and begins to drink in the 

!> pure morning air, and to feel a refreshing sense 

s of new life and vigor, he is glad that he is not 

5 lost in dulness or leaden insensibility. The 

I heavy torpor that we find so hard to overcome 

£ in the morning, and which we rest in as a pleas- 

jj ant sensation, is misery compared to the sense of 

l life that runs through every nerve of body and 

£ mind after pure cold water has touched the face, 

;> and the lungs have expanded with the fresh and 

I vigorous morning air. 

< But not only in the morning, but at all times, 

\ should we strive against this feeling of indolence. 

\ Every man has it; but only they whose purposes 

I are strong enough to enable them to overcome it, 

5 rise to any eminence in the world. The demands 

s of nature keep others at work at their daily tasks. 

J Enough earned to satisfy these, and the mind and 

I body sink again into inaction. In all, there is 

\ an almost unconquerable reluctance to effort of 

? any kind. We are oppressed by an inertia that it 

? requires some force to overcome. But we must 

; exercise this force, and do it daily ; and we shall 

;> find the task more and more easily accomplished* 

s 
> 






~— 1 



118 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

until diligence and effort become to us almost a 
second nature. 

Next to indolence, with which all are more or 
less affected, comes want of order, which in some 
is a constitutional defect, and in others the re- 
sult of education — or, more correctly speaking, 



f l want of education. Some children are never < 

t taught the importance of order ; and, as very few 



h have naturally a love of order, nearly all who are 

\ thus neglected are very deficient in this respect 

5 when they become men. But it is never too late 

to correct this bad habit ; and the quicker a young 
man begins to do so, the better. Let him com- 
mence by having in his own chamber, for in- 
stance, a place for every thing, and by being 
careful to have every thing in its place. If a 
? clerk, the same order should be observed at his t 

desk. First, there should be a system established, ? 

by which to arrange all his books and papers in 
the best way for access and reference ; and then, 
\ when a book has been used, or a paper referred to, 

) it should invariably be returned to its proper place, X 

before any thing else is done. The same rule, 
of a place for every thing and every thing in its 
place, should be observed by all, in every calling. \ 

The most fruitful source of disorder lies in the \ 

habit most persons have of laying a thing down s 

\ in the first place that presents itself, after using X 



\ INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 119 

j 

| it, instead of restoring it to where it properly 

belongs. It seems to many, when in a hurry, 9 
H waste of time to carefully return a thing to the 

< place from which they have taken it, instead of i 



throwing it down any where; but this is a great 
mistake : the very reverse is the truth. 

If, in all the little matters of daily business or 
domestic arrangement, a system of order be ob- 
served, it will become so impressed upon the 
mind as to show itself in things of more impor 
tance. From adopting in things of lesser moment 
an orderly arrangement, a man will naturally pur- 
sue an orderly arrangement in all his more im- 
portant affairs, and thus insure success, which 
would otherwise have been extremely doubtful. 

As nothing great can be accomplished without 
industry and an earnest purpose, so nothing great 
can be accomplished without order. The one is 
indispensable to the other, and they go hand in 
hand, as co-workers, in man's elevation 

A young man whose early training had been 
defective, and whose early opportunities for educa- 
tion limited, found himself at twenty-two years 
of age occupying the lowest place in a large 
wholesale store in Philadelphia — that of porter — 
at a salary of three hundred dollars a year. He 
was naturally indolent and given to self-indulgence, 
and these, more than anything else, had conspired 



] 120 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



< to keep him in a low external condition. At 

I fifteen he attempted to learn a trade, but the early 

i hour at which he was required to be at work, and 

| the steady industry, running through from ten to 

J twelve hours of the day, which was demanded, 

I were more than he would submit to; and so, after 

5 three or four months' trial, he gave up the effort. 

s Unfortunately for him, he had a father upon 

j whom he could lean. Not a rich father ; nor one 

s in easy circumstances ) but one who was only a 

\ hard working mechanic, gathering by daily toil a 

\ scanty supply of food and clothing for his family. 

i From the work shop, where he might have ac- 

J quired a useful trade, the boy went into a store. 

J But as no salary was to be paid until the com- 

s mencement of a second year, he soon got tired, as 

i> he said, of working for nothing, and left a situa- 

\ tion in which only industry and order on his part 

i were required to give him a^ standing and secure 

i his future good fortune. 

I Then came a whole year of idleness, in which 

some dangerous bad habits were formed ; and then 

a year of intermittent industry. And so it had 

^ gone on, until the death of his father, just after 

\ he became of age, threw him out upon the world, 

< scarcely better able to provide for himself than 

the fledgeling pushed forth from its nest. If he 

had stood alone, the case would have looked to him 



INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 121 



more hopeful ; but, there were a mother and two <j 

young sisters, and their eyes turned naturally to- j 

ward him, strong, healthy, and just on the verge J 

of manhood. He had a kind, affectionate nature; j> 

and his heart answered to the mute appeal of their 5 

eyes. No, he could not, he would not desert \ 

them ; but would gather up his strength, go out \ 

into the world, and make an effort to sustain them i 

by his labor. ? 

But, what could he do? Ah, there came the \ 

perplexing and disheartening question. He had \ 

no trade. He knew nothing of accounts. He s 

could scarcely write a legible hand. Yet some- \ 

thing must be done. The wolf was at the door j; 

of his beloved ones, now solely dependent on him; \ 

and his arm must battle with the hungry beast I 

and slay him. \ 

For weeks he sought for some kind of regular \ 

\ employment; but only met with little odd jobs of \ 

\ porterage and the like ; not earning over fifty \ 

) cents a day. Then he was so fortunate as to get ? 

<! the situation of porter in a large wholesale store ? 

I at a salary of three hundred dollars. This was in i 

> mid-winter. The duties of the situation required I 

him to be first at the store, and as he lived nearly s 

5 a mile distant, he had to rise before daylight, in < 

5 order to be at his post in time. <j 

It went hard with him, this new life ; but the \ 



122 ADVICE TO YOUNO MEN. ? 

pressure of necessity kept him up to the mark. J 

He had a quick mind, and he soon began, under ? 

the influence of this new set of circumstances, to \ 
observe and think in a way to which he had never 

been accustomed. He began to understand the \ 

difference of power which skill imparts — skill in S 
any thing. The fact that a young man whose 

natural ability was not equal to his own, but who J 

could write a fair hand, and make calculations \ 
readily, stood far above him in the store as to 

position and income, was something very sugges- \ 

tive. "I'll go to night school," he said to himself, » 

one day, as this subject pressed itself upon his l 

thoughts. " Fll gain a better knowledge of figures, < 

and practice writing." \ 

But, this state of enthusiasm was at first only a I 
temporary condition. On reaching home at night, \ 
weary from the day's hard service, he felt but $ 
little inclination for study ; and lounged through s 
the evening, or spent the hours in company with 
young men who were idle and aimless — old com- 
panions who still clung to him. \ 

The right thought, however, had found a lodge- X 

ment in his mind, and it was not an idle thought. \ 

Daily the contrast between himself and other young \ 

men in the store was pressed upon him ; and gra- \ 

dually resolution acquired strength, until it pro- \ 
duced action. The night school was at last entered; 

. 



INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 123 



i and then came the earnest work. Very slow were the < 

J first steps; difficult to be taken; and often attended \ 

i by the spirit of discouragement. But a purpose \ 

s had been formed ; and this was the spur to his ? 

mind. One of the first good results was a separa- \ 

\ tion of himself from certain young acquaintances, J; 

? who had no ambition of the right kind ; who were i 

{ 5 

s too mentally indolent for improvement. Their 2 

I indolence, and love of mere sensual pleasures, had \ 

i helped to keep him down to their low level. s 

\ It was noticed in time, that he wrote a tolerably \ 

legible hand, and the shipping clerk seeing this, J 

5 transferred to him the duty of filling up bills of \ 

\ lading, and slip receipts for goods. He was pleased \ 



i with this acknowledgment of his progress, which 5 



had been rather discouraging in his own eyes, and s 

took especial pains to be correct and orderly. £ 

The shipping clerk, whose social advantages s 

had been in every way superior to those of our '; 

young porter, whom we will simply call James, \ 

for convenience of identity, was not by any means \ 

as much interested in his daily duties as he was 5 

in his evening pleasures. He didn't like work, { 

and was ready to shift off upon others whatever t 

could readily be transferred. So, finding that \ 

James was willing, intelligent, and accommoda- ) 

ting, he delegated one duty after another, until \ 



r 



I 124 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. ) 



not less than a third of his work was done by the \ 

porter. \ 

Thrifty employers generally see all that is going \ 

on in their establishments, and it did not escape ) 

the notice of a member of the firm, that James ^ 

was doing duty as a shipping clerk, as well as por- J 

ter. He looked on in silence, but noted the jj 

manner in which the porter executed the tasks of \ 

pen and figure work that the shipping clerk re- ) 

quired of him. One day, about a year after James 5 

went into the store, it happened that from sick- s 

ness or some other cause, the shipping clerk was \ 
absent. It was in the height of the busy season, 

and the hands of every one were full. So this \ 

member of the firm, who had been observing the ? 

porter, said to him : ;! 

" James, do you think you can attend to the 

shipment of goods to-day V \ 

" Yes, sir," was the prompt answer. \ 

u Very well. We'll get some one to do your [ 

work, and make you shipping clerk, pro tern- ;> 

pore." ) 

To be called a shipping clerk, pleased James I 

mightily, and awakened new throbbings of ambi- < 

) tion in his mind. He performed all the duties of I 

; the position for that day, satisfactorily; better, I 

J indeed, than they were usually performed by the J 

\ person whose place he had filled. < 



\ INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 125 

s 

\ On the next day, the shipping clerk being still 
absent, James took his place again, and so on the 

e day following. So pleased was the member of the 

\ firm who had entrusted him with these duties, at 

'•> his promptness, intelligence, and accuracy, that 

£ he began to regard him with a new interest, and 

£ to look upon him as a valuable young man in the 

\ establishment. 

> y When the shipping clerk returned to his post, 

> he became the object of a closer attention than 
|> usual ; and some comparisons that were made be- 
s tween him and James, were not altogether in his 
s favor. Like too many young men, he kept bad 
f i hours, and was, in consequence, heavy in the 
\ morning, and a late riser. A natural indolence, 
\ and inclination to self-indulgence, prevented any 
\ successful resistance of his morning sleepiness, 
b and though called by the servant at his boarding- 
< house in good time, he was rarely down to break- 
\ fast until long after the period when he should 
jj have been at the store. This was not satisfac- 
ij tory to his employers, who occasionally remon- 

> strated. 

jj About this time, some serious errors in the ship- 

i ment of goods were discovered, and the clerk, on 

J being called to account rather sharply, became 

> angry, and spoke in a way that was offensive. 
? His dismissal from the house followed as a conse- 



126 ADVICE TO YOUNa MEN. 

quence. The porter was raised to the vacant post, 

and his salary increased to the sum T)f five him- \ 

dred dollars. ; 

Now, James had life and purpose sufficient to 
overcome all his natural indolence. This rapid 
elevation to a place for which he had made himself j; 

competent in a short time, showed him the way 
upwards, and he determined to climb patiently b 

and perseveringly. All his evenings were spent 5 

in self-improvement. He took not only one course 
of lessons from a writing teacher, but many, de- 
termining to acquire a style of penmanship that 
would fit him for any place, where other qualifi- 
cations were of the right character. He studied 
book-keeping, also. For two years he occupied 
the place of shipping clerk. Then, a higher po- 
sition was made vacant, in consequence of the in- 
dolent habits of a clerk, and he was again ele- 
vated. 

Two years afterwards, his services were required j 

in a still more important place, the incumbent of I 

which had also grown indolent, and, in conse- 
quence, unreliable. His salary was now one thou- 
sand dollars. And so he continued to rise from 
one position to another, until, from chief and con- 
fidential clerk, he became a member of the firm. 
He is now a man of large fortune, all of which he 5 

owes to a resolute character, by which he over- s 



INDOLENCE AND WANT OF ORDER. 127 



position in society, is that which he achieves for 



4 came early defects and bad habits, not the least of 

> which was indolence. jj 

\ In the history of most successful men, whether > 

< in science, art, or trade, it will be found that the s 

( first real movement upwards did not take place, \ 

\ until, in a spirit of resolute self-denial, indolence, < 

? so natural to almost every one, was mastered. > 

Necessity is, usually, the spur that sets the slug- l» 

gish energies in motion. Poverty, therefore, is \ 

ofbener a blessing to a young man than prosperity; f! 

\ for, while the one tends to stimulate his powers, \ 

\ the other inclines them to languor and disuse. \ 

\ But, is it not very discreditable for the young man, i 

i who is favored with education, friends, and all the i 

5 outside advantages which could be desired as > 
X means to worldly success, to let those who stand ? 
\ in these respects, at the beginning, far below him, X 

gradually approach as the steady years move on, \ 

c and finally outstrip him in the race ? It is not \ 

only discreditable, but disgraceful. A man's true \ 



himself — he is worth to the world no more, no less. i 

As he builds for society in useful work, so he builds s 

for himself. He is a man for what he does, not for J 

what his father or his friends have done. If they j 

have done well, and given him a position, the deeper l 

the shame, if he sink down to a meaner level ? 

through self-indulgence and indolence. ? 



128 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEM. 



\ CHAPTER XII. '< 

S INTIMATE FRIENDSHIPS. i 1 



£ While there is a use in intimate friendships, s 

j; there is also no little danger. An intimate friend- J 

? ship with a bad man will almost inevitably cor- s 

rupt one of pure morals; for it is much easier to 5 

pervert than to restore to good, because evil in I 

man usually seeks more ardently for the attain- ? 

<! ment of its ends than good. |> 

s The danger of an intimate acquaintance with 

? a bad man will be seen in what we are about to \ 

\ relate. jj 

[j Ttvo mothers, who had been intimate friends J 

from girlhood, had each a son, whose ages were ? 

s nearly alike. The children, while young, were 

I not, from various causes, thrown much together, b 

J and, when old enough to go to college, were sent s 

5 to different institutions. Charles S had ever < 

} been of a mild, obedient, teachable disposition; J 

while James L was the very reverse — pas- j 

\ sionate„ self-willed, and intractable. The one i 

\ was a blessing to his family, the other a trouble 

I to all his friends, j 

J 



INTIMATE FRIENDSHIPS. 129 

As young men, they came home from college 
unchanged in their peculiar dispositions. Charles 
S was domestic in his habits, mild and gen- 
tlemanly in his deportment, and showed no incli- 
nation to run into the excesses so peculiar to his 

age. James L , on the contrary, had no taste 

for the home circle. It was too tame for him. 
And the temptations that met one of his temper- 
ament, beyond this circle, were corrupting him 

with fearful rapidity. James L was an only 

son, and his mother's affections had ever been 
earnestly drawn out towards him. The excesses 
into which he was running greatly distressed her, 
and she often, by tender entreaty and earnest ex- 
postulation, sought to draw him away from his 
infatuation. But all in vain. He had tasted the 
cup of sensual delight, and it had fired all the 
corrupt passions of his nature. 

One day, while on a visit to Mrs. S , the 

mother of James L said, — 

" Ah, what would I not give if James was like 
your Charles! I believe I should be the happiest 
mother alive. But from the day of his birth, my 
boy has been a trouble to me ; and I fear he will 
continue to be so until the day of his death." 

" Charles has always been a good boy," replied 

Mts. S . " He is a great comfort to me now, 

for he appears to love home better than any place 
else." a 



130 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



" While my James loves any place better than 

home. Ah me ! He will break my heart, I fear, 

at last." 

" O, no, I hope not. Young men are often 

wild at first But a few years sober them 

down." 

" Such may be the case, but I am very fearful. 

I wish he had some better companions than those 

with whom I think he now associates." 

This remark led on to others referring to the 

great influence a young man's associates have 

over him in leading him into or away from evil ; 

and finally it was settled between the mothers 

that great good might result from making the 
( young men better acquainted with each other, 

j " O, I am sure it will be the best thing in the 

world for my James, if he were to form an attach- 

s ment for Charles," Mrs. L said, as she re- 

J ferred to the matter, after it had been settled that 

t the two young men should be thrown together as 

[ much as possible. 

| To accomplish this, it was arranged, between 
J Mrs. S and Mrs. L , that they should 

visit each other frequently, and induce their sons, 
jj as often as it could be done, to accompany them. 

By this means it occurred that the young men 
j often met, and either in conversation or in games 

pf chess, at which both were skilful and nearly 



INTIMATE FRIENDSHIPS. 



131 



i matched, passed the time they were compelled 
\ to spend in each other's society. Somehow or 
I other — not by the law of similarity, certainly — 
i the two young men formed a friendship for each 
s other, which increased until it assumed a very 
J intimate character. And now came the impor- 
I tant crisis — the turning point — when the pre- 
\ ponderance would be in favor of either good or 
? evil — when the good principles of the one would 
{ ? not only defend him against evil, but give him 
J power to lead the oilier out of evil, or when the 
^ evil would subdue and destroy the good. It was a 
'<] period of fearful import. Alas ! the experiment — 
\ a most dangerous one— proved fatal to the gener- 
ic ous hopes of Mrs. S — — . She failed to save the 
$ son of her friend, and lost her own, who soon be- 
l came corrupt and debased even to a worse exter* 
s nal degree than he by whom he had been tempted 
< from the right way. 

s And this is by no means a thing to excite sur- 

\ prise. An opposite result would have been a 

\ matter of greater wonder. Temptations to evil 

I are far more powerful than allurements to good, 

|j because the former appeal to inherent evil ten- 

s dencies, while the latter present but few attrac- 

\ tions to one who has debased himself by indul- 

\ gence in sensual appetites and passions. He sees 

\ nothing delightful in restraining these, because in 



I 

? 

s 132 ADVICE TO YOUN& MEN. 

J ^ • 

their gratification he has found what he esteems 

< the highest pleasure. 

I From this may be seen the danger of an inti- 

mate friendship with a man of bad habits ; and 
scarcely less dangerous is an association with one 
;> of bad principles. In fact, we do not believe that 

\ an intimate friendship can be formed with a man 

< whose principles are bad, without great injury. 
A young man, who has a respect for religion and 
morality, cannot Jong hear them ridiculed and 

\ assailed by a friend in whose society he takes 

i pleasure, without gradually losing his respect for 

i both; nor can he hear, from the same source, con- 

s stant allusions made to the pleasures of a vicious 
indulgence of the natural appetites and propen- 

i sities, without being himself tempted into similar 

< indulgence. 

Friendships are desirable and useful ; and in- 

§ timate friendships, where there is a similarity of 

) affection for what is good and true, are not only 

] delightful to those who enjoy them, but elevating 

\ and strengthening to the mind. In true friend- 

\ ship, each seeks to benefit and give the other 

\ pleasure; and the effect of this is to lead a man 

5 out of himself, and thus to love himself less. But 

) an evil-disposed man, who is and must be a selfish 

\ man, cannot reciprocate true friendship ; and the 

i reason is, because he cannot love any thing out 



{ 

INTIMATE FRIENDSHIPS 133 < 

\ i 

< of himself. He may affect the virtue of friend- \ 
ship, because he receives pleasuie or benefit from ',; 

i the individual with whom he seeks to associate; ;> 

\ but there is not, and cannot be, any reciprocation 5 

^ of true friendship in his heart, for he is incapable s 

5 of it ; and whenever he finds another more qual- s 

j lfied to gratify his selfish feelings, he will desert i 
j the friend for whom he has professed so much 

z disinterested regard, j> 

/ Considering the danger that appertains to an b 

i association with a man of bad principles and t 

s habits, and also bearing in mind the fact that a § 

j selfish man cannot love any thing out of himself, \, 

s every young man who sincerely desires to elevate t 

\ himself morally, as well as intellectually and tern- \ 

\ porally, will examine well into the character of \ 

\ all with whom he is on terms of intimacy ; and i 

\ if in his best friend, so esteemed, he find a s 

< blunted moral sense, let him separate himself from < 
s that friend as quickly as it is possible for him to < 

do it, and the more especially if he possess a de- 

\ cided character, and seek to lead others rather i 

j than to be led and influenced himself. If, on the > 

i contrary, that friend is rather disposed to look I 

\ up to and be influenced by him, his plain duty is I 

$ to seek first to correct false ideas, and to restore < 
to quicker perceptions the moral powers ; but if he 

fail in this, — if evil is still preferred ;o good, — let J 



134 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

the separation take place, no matter at what cost 
of feeling. It is the one only safe course of 

s action; for in such a friendship there is always 

£ danger. 



CHAPTER XIII. 



S HOME. S 

Society is marked by greater and smaller 
i divisions, as into nations, communities, and 

families. A man is a member of the common- 
wealth, a smaller community, as a hamlet or city, 
s and his family at the same time ; and the more 

I perfectly all his duties to his family are dis- £ 

| charged, the more fully does he discharge his \ 

i duties to the community and the nation ; for a j 

i good member of a family cannot be a bad mem- 

> ber of the commonwealth, for he that is faithful l J 
{ in what is least will also be faithful in what is \ 

greater. Indeed, the more perfectly a man fulfils 
< all his domestic duties, the more perfectly, in that 

\ very act, has he discharged his duty to the whole; J 

for the whole is made up of parts, and its health 
? depends entirely upon the health of the various 

> parts. There are, of course, general as well as > 



Uwcv 






HOME. 



135 



specific duties ; but the more conscientious a man 
is in the discharge of specific duties, the more 
ready will he be to perform those that are gen- 
eral ; and we believe that the converse of this 
will be found equally true, and that those who 
have least regard for home — who have, indeed, 
uo home, no domestic circle — are the worst 
citizens. This they may not be, apparently ; they 
may not break the laws, nor do any thing to 
call down upon them censure from the community, 
and yet, in the secret and almost unconscious 
dissemination of demoralizing principles, may be 
doing a work far more destructive of the public 
good than if they had committed a robbery. 

We always feel pain when we hear a young 
man speak lightly of home, and talk carelessly, 
or it may be with sportive ridicule, of the " old 
man," and the "old woman," as if they were of 
but little consequence. We mark it as a bad 
indication, and feel that the feet of that young 
man are treading upon dangerous ground. His 
home education may not have been of the best 
kind, nor may home influences have reached his 
higher and better feelings ; but he is at least old 
enough now to understand the causes, and to seek 
rather to bring into his home all that it needs to 
render it more attractive, than to estrange him- 
self from it, and expose its defects. 



136 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



> Instances of this kind are not of very frequent 

£ occurrence. Home has its charms for nearly all, 

I and the very name comes with a blessing to the 

< spirit. This, however, is more the case with 
J those who have been separated from it, than it is 
<; with those who yet remain in the old homestead, 
i with parents, brothers, and sisters, as their friends 
\ and companions. 

$ The earnest love of home, felt by nearly all 

\ who have been compelled to leave that pleasant 

•J place, is a feeling that should be tenderly cher- 

\ ished : and this love should be kept alive by 

? associations that have in them as perfect a re- 

f semblance of home as it is possible to obtain. It 

• : is for this reason that it is bad for a young man 

s to board in a large hotel, where there is nothing 

J in which there is even an image of the home 

^ circle. Each has his separate chamber; but that 

\ is not home : all meet together at the common 

\ table ; but there is no home feeling there, with 

5 its many sweet reciprocations. The meal com- 

< pleted, all separate, each to his individual pur- 
\ suit or pleasure. There is a parlor, it is true ; 
s but there are no family gatherings there. One 
\ and another sit there, as inclination prompts ; but 
£ each sits alone, busy with his own thoughts. All 
J> this is a poor substitute for home. And yet it 

< offers its attractions to some. A young man in 



j-Vu"\.-v.-\»"vr -/-_-_-.. 






i 



HOME. 137 5 

a hotel has more freedom than in a family or ? 

private boarding-house. He comes in and goes > 

out unobserved ; there is no one to say to him, ) 

"why?" or " wherefore? 5 ' But this is a danger- j 

ous freedom, and one which no young man should \ 

desire. <; 

But mere negative evils, so to speak, are not \ 

the worst that beset a young man who unwisely \ 

chooses a public hotel as a place for boarding. f 

He is much more exposed to temptations there \> 

than in a private boarding-house or at home. 3 

Men of licentious habits, in most cases, select \ 

hotels as boarding-places; and such rarely scruple t 

to offer to the ardent minds of young men, with £ 

whom they happen to fail in company, those !> 

allurements that are most likely to lead them away ;» 

from virtue. And, besides this, there being no b 

evening home-circle in a hotel, a young man who $ 

is not engaged earnestly in some pursuit that £ 

occupies his hours of leisure from business, has i 

nothing to keep him there, but is forced to seek i 

for something to interest his mind elsewhere, and [> 

is, in consequence, more open to temptation. i 

Home is man's true place. Every man should <! 

have a home. Here his first duties lie, and here ) 

he finds the strength by which he is able sue- < 

cessfully to combat in life's temptations. Happy $ 

is that young man who is still blessed with a j 



,',.. , ___. 



138 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

home, — who has his mother's counsel and the 
pure love of sisters to strengthen and cheer him 
amid life's opening combats. 



i 

I 

CHAPTER XIV. 



PARENTS 



Although the attainment of mature age takes < 

J away the obligation of obedience to parents, as i 

'J well as the right of dependence upon them, it ? 

\ should lessen in no way a young man's deference, 

\ respect, or affection. For twenty-one years, or 

\ from the earliest period of infancy, through child- 

ly hood and youth, up to mature age, his parents 

jj have felt, and thought, and labored for him. J 

i They have watched over his pillow, anxiously, in 

s sickness ; they have, with the most unselfish love, <> 

g earnestly sought his good in every thing, even to ^ 

\ the extent of much self-denial ; and can he now 

e offer them less than deference, respect, and affec- s 

tion ? No : surely no young man will withhold 
) this. \ 

Let us show you a picture. Do you see that 
( s feeble infant asleep on its mother's bosom ? How 



PARENTS. 



139 



nelpless it lies ! How dependent it is upon others 

'( for every thing ! The neglect of a moment might i 

j cause some fatal injury to a being so entirely i 

\ powerless. But that mother's love neither slum- i 

;j bers nor sleeps. It is ever around the fragile ;j 

creature committed to her care, and she is ready 

to guard its life with her own. You once lay jj 

< thus in your mother's arms, and she nourished \ 
r your helpless infancy thus at her bosom. She J 
> watched over you, loved you, protected and de- 
fended you ; and all was from love, — deep, > 

'} pure, fervent love, — the first love, and the most ') 
$ unselfish love that ever has or ever will bless you 
in this life, for it asked for and expected no re- 
s turn. A mother's love ! — it is the most perfect 

< reflection of the love of God ever thrown back < 
j? from the mirror of a human heart. J 
e Here is another picture. A mother sits in i 
I grief, and her boy, now no longer an infant, ? 
J stands in sullen disobedience by her side. She \ 
\ has striven to correct his faults for his own good, J 
{ and in love reproved him ; but he would not re- ) 

gard her admonitions. Again and again she \ 

has sought, by gentle urgings, to direct him to < 

) good; but all has been in vain, and she now re- j 

) sorts to punishment, that is far more painful to jj 

5 her than to her child. The scene is changed. i 

See where she sits now, alone, bitterly weeping. $ 



140 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

There is an image in her mind, and but one, 
that obscures all the rest ; it is the image of her 
suffering child — suffering by her hand ! Her 
breast labors heavily, her heart is oppressed — she 
feels deep anguish of spirit. But she has done 

s her duty, painful though it has been, and that 

sustains her. You were once a boy like that ; 
and thus your own mother has grieved over your 
disobedience, and felt the same bitterness of 
spirit. And love for you -was the cause. Can 

§ you ever forget this? 

Do you see that darkened chamber ? By the 



tears upon her cheek. Day and night, for nearly 
s 



i 



bed of sickness sits a pale watcher, and there are { 



> 
a week, has she sat by the bed, or moved with 

noiseless feet about the room. She has not taken 

off her garments during the time; nor has she 

joined the family at their regular meals. Who is 

the object of all this deep solicitude 1 It is her 

\ child. The hand of sickness is upon him, and 

\ he has drawn near to the gates of death. In her \ 

solicitude, she forgets even herself. She has but ? 

one thought, and that is for her offspring. Her 

love, her care, her anxious hopes are at length \ 

rewarded. The destroyer passes by, and leaves \ 

her her child. Thus has your mother watched, 

day by day and night by night, beside your couch i 

of sickness. Never forget this, young man. ) 



PARENTS. 141 



Fjrget every other obligation, but never forget \ 

\ how much you owe your mother ! You can never ) 

I know a thousandth part of what she has endured \ 

\ for your sake ; and now, in her old age, all she 5 

? asks is, that you will love her — not with the 5 

s love she still bears to you ; she does not expect 5 

i that — and care for her, that life's sunshine may \ 

j still come through the windows and over the \ 

\ threshold of her dwelling. \ 

\ And with no less of respect and affection \ 

\ should a young man think of his father. Not |j 

5 until his own life-trials come on will he fully un- \ 

\ derstand how much he owes his father. It is no 4 

\ light task which a man takes upon himself — that \ 

s 1 of sustaining, by his single efforts, a whole family, \ 

\ and sustaining them in comfort, and perhaps in «> 

i luxury. You have an education that enables you ? 

I to take a respectable position in society ; you ? 



have a groundwork of good principles; habits s 

of industry ; in fact, all that a young man need s 

ask for in order that he may rise in the world ; \ 

and for these you are indebted to your father. \ 

To give you such advantages, cost him labor, \ 

self-denial, and much anxious thought. Many J 

times, during the struggle to sustain his family, j 

has he been pressed down with worldly difficul- \ 

ties, and almost ready to despair. He has seen ) 

his last dollar, it may be, leave his hand, withou \ 



s 

\ I 

142 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

\ \ 

J knowing certainly where the next was to come [< 

<■ from. But still, his love for his children has 

\ urged him on, and by new and more vigorous < 

| efforts he has overcome the difficulties by which i 

\ he was surrounded. \ 

\ A young man should think often of these > 

things, and let them influence his conduct to his ? 

X parents. There will come a time in life when \ 

< such thoughts will force themselves upon him ; 

J; but these thoughts may come too late. \ 

j; Towards parents the deportment should always < 

? be deferential and kind. A young man, who l 

£ properly reflects upon the new relation now exist- { 

5 ing between them and himself, will naturally 

s change his manner of address, and be far more s 

guarded than he was before he arrived of age, j 

s lest he say or do any thing that might cause them J 

> to feel that he now considered himself beyond <; 

\ their control. When they advise, he should con- > 

$ sider well what they say; and, if compelled to J 

\> differ from them, he should carefully explain the 5 

< reason, and show truly his regret at not being \ 
s able to act from their judgment of the matter. \ 
\ As a general thing, however, he will find theii < 
l l advice to be better than the counsels of his i 
') own scarcely-fledged reason, and he will do well !> 
J seriously to deliberate upon it, before taking his > 
s own course s 



L 



PARENTS. 143 

Above all, let no unkind word ever pass youi \ 

lips. Nothing stings so, nothing so deeply wounds j 

the heart of a parent, as harsh words from his I 

children who have grown up and become men j 

and women. Almost as bad as this is neglect. > 

The older your father and mother grow, the nar- \ 

rower becomes the sphere of their hopes and t s 

wishes, until, at length, all thought and all affec- ji 

tion are centred in their children. But while s 

s 

this is going on, the children's minds are becom- t 

ing more and more absorbed in the cares, duties, ? 

and new affections of life, until their parents are c s ' 

almost forgotten. Forewarned of this tendency, \> 

let every one strive against it, lest he wound by s 

neglect, either seeming or real, a heart that has < 

loved him from life's earliest dawn up to the \ 

present moment. \ 

But not alone in deference, respect, and marks \ 

of affection, lie the limits of a young man's duties $ 

to his parents. He should endeavor to take up < 

and bear for them, if too heavy for their declin- <! 

ing strength, some of the burdens that oppress <, 

them. He should particularly consider his father, s 

and see if the entire support of the family that > 

yet remains upon his hands does not tax his J 

efforts too far; and, if such be the case, he should ,> 

deny himself almost any thing, in order to render s 

Borne aid. For years, he has been receiving all \ 



144 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

that he required, and it is now but fair that he 
should begin to make some return. 

How often do we see two or three sons, all in 
the receipt of good salaries, spending their money 
in self-indulgence, while their father is toiling on 
for his younger children, broken in health, per- 
haps disappointed in his worldly prospects, and 
almost despairing in regard to the final result of 
all his efforts ! They come and go, and never 
think that any thing is due from them. It does 
not occur to them, that, if each were to deny 
himself the gratification of his desires to the 
extent of one hundred dollars a year, and the 
aggregate amount were placed in their father's 
hands to aid in supporting the family, it would 
take a mountain of care from his shoulders. 
Why is it that so many young men forget their 
duty in this important matter ? One would think 
that no prompter was required here to remind 
them of their part. But it is not so. On the 
contrary, it is a thing of such rare occurrence for 
a son to practise self-denial for the sake of his 
parents, that, wherever it is seen, it forms the 
subject of remark. 

We often see parents who have enjoyed but 
few advantages themselves, and who, in conse- 
quence, are compelled to occupy lower and more 
T aborious positions in the world, denying them- 



PARENTS. 145 

selves many comforts and all the luxuries of life, 
in order to give their children the very best 
education possible for them to provide. We see 
these children growing up, and too often the first 
return they make is in the form of invidious com- 
parisons between themselves and the very parents 

to whom they owe almost every thing ! In a lit- J 
tie while, they step into the world as men, and, 

becoming absorbed in its pursuits from various ;> 

selfish ends, seem to forget entirely that their s 

parents are still toiling on, enfeebled by years, ^ 

and over exertion for their sakes, and with the ^ 

very sweat of their time-worn brows digging out \ 

from the hard earth, so to speak, the scanty food \ 

and raiment required to sustain nature. Ah ! but s 

this is a melancholy sight. Could any thing tell \-> 

the sad tale of man's declension from good so \ 

eloquently as this ? < 

It is plainly the duty of every young man, i 

whose parents are poor and compelled to labor § 

beyond their strength, to aid them to the extent , c ; 

of his ability. They have borne the burden for *> 

him through many years. From their toil and i 

self-denial he now has the means of rising higher \ 

in the world than they had the ability ever tc J 

rise; but he is unjust and ungrateful, if, in his jj 

eager efforts to advance too rapidly, he forget and ^ 

neglect them. Nothing can excuse conduct so ? 

unnatural, so cruel. \ 

10 J 



146 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



CHAPTER XV. 



SISTERS. 



If you have younger sisters, who are just- en* r ; 

lering society, all your interest should be awak- ;j 

ened for them. You cannot but have seen some ,> 

little below the surface, and already made the 
discovery, that too few of the young men who j; 
move about in the various social circles to which 
you have admission, are fit associates for a pure- 
minded woman. Their exterior, it is true, is very ? 
fair ; they skig well, they dance well, their persons 
are elegant, and their manners attractive; but you 
have met them when they felt none of the restraints 
of female society, and seen them unmask their >) 
real characters. You can remember the ribald £ 
jest, the obscene allusion, the sneer at virtue, the \ 
unblushing acknowledgment of licentiousness. \ 
You have heard them speak of this sweet girl, 
and that pure-minded woman, in terms that 
would have roused your deepest indignation, had \ 
your own sister been the subject of allusion. 

You may know all these things, but your inno- 
cent sisters at home cannot know them, nor see rea* 



SISTERS. 147 

son for shunning the society of those whose real 
characters, if revealed, would cause them to turn 
away in disgust and horror. From the dangers 
of an acquaintanceship with such young men it 
is your duty to guard your sisters ; and you must 
do this more by warding off the evil than by 
warnings against it. In order to this, you should 
make it a point of duty always to go with 
your sisters into company, and to be their com- 
panion, if possible, on all public occasions. By 
so doing, you can prevent the introduction of 
men whose principles are bad; or, if such intro- 
ductions are forced upon them in spite of you, 
can throw in a timely word of caution. This lat- 
ter it may be too late to do after an acquaint- 
anceship is formed with a man whose character 
is detestable in your eyes, provided he have a 
fair exterior. Your sister will hardly be made 
to believe that one who is so attractive in all re- 
spects, and who can converse of virtue and honor 
so eloquently, can possibly have an impure or 
vicious mind. She will think you prejudiced. 
The great thing is to guard, by every means in 
your power, these innocent ones from the pol- 
luting presence of a bad man. You cannot tell 
how soon he may win the affections of the most 
mnocent, confiding, and loving of them all, and 
draw her off from virtue. And even if his de* 



148 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN I 

\ 

signs be honorable, if he win her but to wed her 5 

her lot will be by no means an enviable one : |> 

he cannot make her happy ; for happy no pure- 
minded woman ever has been, or ever can be 
made by a corrupt, evil-minded, and selfish man. I 

> You are a brother; your position is one ot j 

1 great responsibility ; let this be ever before your \ 

I mind. On your faithfulness to your duty may \> 

J depend a lifetime of happiness or misery for > 

I those who are, or ought to be, very dear to you. 

\ But not only should you seek to guard them from 

? the danger just alluded to, — your affection for < 

J them should lead you to enter into their pleasures 

^ as far as in your power to do so ; to give interest 

$ and variety to the home circle ; to afford them, at 5 

all times, the assistance of your judgment in mat- I 
j; ters of trivial as well as grave importance. By 

i this, you will gain their confidence and acquire 5 

<; an influence over them that may, at some later 

;> period, enable you to serve them in a moment of \ 

< impending danger. > 

s We very often — indeed, far too often — see } 

J young men with sisters, who appear to be entirely \ 

$ indifferent in regard to them. They rarely visit 

? together ; their associates, male and female, are ] 

I strangers to each other ; they appear to have no 

J common interests. This state of things is the \ 

s fault, nine times in ten, of the young men. It is 



.-_^_~_-_-<_~_'-_<-_- 



■^ 



SISTERS. 149 $ 

s die result of their neglect and indifference. \ 

\ There are very few sisters who do not love j 

with a most tender and unselfish regard their \ 

> brothers, especially their elder brothers, and who j 

i would not feel happier in being their companions, s 

s than in the companionship of almost any one. j 

s Notwithstanding all this neglect and indifference, j 

how willingly is every little office performed that \ 

\ adds to the brother's comfort ! How much care \ 

\ is there for him, who gives back so little in re- \ 

\ turn ! The sister's love is as unselfish as it is h 

) unostentatious. It is shown in acts, not in pro- \ 

J fessions. How can any young man be indifferent \ 

\ to such love? How can he fail in its full and § 

I free reciprocation 1 i 

\ A regard for himself, as well as for his sisters, |> 

\ should lead a young man to be much with them. {> 

] Their influence in softening, polishing, and re- ( l 

I fining his character will be very great. They s 

I have perceptions of the propriety and fitness of •' 

I things far quicker than he has ; and this he will •; 

\ soon see if he observe their remarks upon the \ 

\ persons with whom they come in contact, and the \ 

\ circumstances that transpire around them. While \ 

\ he is reasoning on the subject, and balancing \ 

I many things in his mind before coming to a satis- < 

< factory conclusion, they, by a kind of intuition, § 

have settled the whole matter, and settled it, he \ 



p~ 



I r I 

[> 150 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 5 

\ . \ 

will find, truly. In the graver things of life, a \ 

man's judgment is more to be relied upon than 
a woman s, because here a regular course of i 
I reasoning from premises laid down is required, \ 

$ and this a man is much more able to do than a ? 

;. woman ; but in matters of taste and propriety, jj 

'< and in the quick appreciation of character, a 

< woman's perceptions are worth far more than a 

\\ man's judgment. And in the more weighty and 

serious matters of life, a man will always find \> 

I that he will receive aid, in coming to a nice de- 

5 cision, from a wife or sister who loves him, if 

he will only carefully lay the whole subject before 
her, with the reasons that appeal to his judgment, i 
and be guided in some measure by her percep- > 
5 tions of what is right. This is because man is in > 

[> the province of the understanding, which acts by 

thought, and woman in the province of the affec- 
tions, which act by perceptions; not that a man s 
|; does not have perceptions and a woman reason, 

'] but the leading characteristic difference between \ 

s . J 

, ! * the sexes is as stated, and each comes to conclu- ! 

sions mainly by either the one or the other of Ij 
these two modes. This position, which we be- 
lieve to be the true one in regard to the differ- 
ence between the sexes, demonstrates the great 
use of female society, especially the society of \, 

\ tliose who feel some interest in and affection for \ 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 151 

us. In such society, there is a reciprocation of 
benefits that is nearly, if not quite, equal. And no 
where can this reciprocation be of greater utility 
than among brothers and sisters, just entering 
upon life, with all their knowledge of human 
character and human life to gain. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 



Thrown, of necessity, among men of all char- 
acters, habits, and professions, a young man will 
often find himself in circumstances that require 
him to act without his being able to see clearly, 
at first, how he should act. He will also find 
himself so situated at times, that, do as he may, 
offence will be given. All that is required, in 
cases like these, is to act from honorable princi- 
ples ; that is, to regard truth, right, and justice. 
Mere personal considerations, as how this one 
or that one may feel, think, or act, ought not to 
be regarded, when truth, right, or justice, is con- 
cerned. Nor should personal consequences be 
taken into the account, where a principle of in- 



»- ~-~-=-S,-w-„-„'S e ->.",«' 






5 



152 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

tegrity is involved. Let every man do right, ac* 



\ cording to the honest dictates of his reason, and J 



i v he has nothing to fear. ^ 

| It should be settled as a principle in the mind 5 

I of every one, in his intercourse among men, never, s 

5 by word, act, or smile, to countenance vice, or J 
encourage that despicable spirit that finds de- \ 

\ light in seeking out and magnifying the faults of !> 

J others. If a young friend indulge in obscene \ 

\ remarks, do not laugh at him, but rather seek to \ 

) chancre the subject of discourse. If he take \ 

< .... ^ 
! more freedom, and speak of his immoralities, cen- < 

sure them as wronor without a moment's flinch- \ 

'] ing from your duty, and do it with a degree of ? 

< seriousness that will make him feel that you are f 
£ in earnest. By an opposite course, you will en- ;> 

courage vice ; but by this you may help a friend I 

f» to shun evils, that, if indulged in, will debase his 

jj mind and make his influence in society a curse 

'< instead of a blessing. 

As for men of confirmed bad habits and prin- 

j| ciples, make it a point to have no more intimate 

\ intercourse with them than what comes in the 

\ way of business. If you do, you are not only in 

) some danger yourself, but you endorse them as 

\ virtuous men, thus approving their characters to 

\ those who do not know them, and who may be 

\ led astray by their influence. 



I CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 153 ] 

j f 

> Let every young man, in stepping out upon J 
5 the world's arena, consider well the principles ? 
I upon which he ought to act in common society. ) 
\ Let him look to what is right more than to what \ 

> is expedient. Let him try to forget himself, \ 

<j when called upon to act, in a consideration of \ 

\ what is due to others on the abstract principles of \ 

? justice. He need not fear that such conduct will l> 

i be ever bringing him into unpleasant collision > 

I with others, — although this may sometimes be ^ 

<j the case, — for the truth of his character will > 

£ soon be seen, felt, and appreciated. The good < 

? will confide in his integrity, and the bad will '< 

? respect him. He will be known in the commu- \ 

\ nity as an honest and honorable man, and this \ 

5 character will sustain him in any trial he may J 

^ find it necessary to endure for the sake of right. ;> 

5 Deference to age, superior wisdom, and station J 

\ in society, may be observed without a young \ 

\ man's violating his self-respect, or showing any \ 

undue regard for mere conventional forms. The \ 

i ■ . . . $ 

J failure to do so arises from a false notion of one's J 

'5 own importance. Real worth is modest, and < 

\ always ready to defer to others ; in fact, often too ? 

much so, in society, for the general good, while \ 

shallow conceit is ever thrusting itself rudely _ ■> 

j forward, and occupying the place of wiser and < 

J better men. There should always be respect \ 



s s 



154 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



< and deference to age and superior wisdom, for ? 
'] reasons that every one perceives and understands \ 
I and this should also be shown to those who oc l 

> cupy elevated stations in society, as represent- 5 
I atives of the common good. The deference | 
{> ought not to be paid to the person, but to the \ 
'] officer. The office is one established for the > 

good of the many, and whoever fills it ought to 

? seek the common good, and should have respect \ 

and deference because he does so, or is supposed I 

> to do so. He may be a bad officer, but still the J 
i office is good; and while he fills it, he should I 

< have respect for the sake of the office, lest that ? 
s come to be disregarded, or lightly thought of, in I 
;! the community. Of course, a mere deference to \ 
\ rank or station, for the sake of being noticed by \ 
\ those who hold elevated positions, and thence J 
^ being thought of consequence, or for the pur- \ 
) pose of attaining some selfish end, is wrong. \ 
\ A young man, when he first enters society, 

\ should think much, observe accurately, and say { 

s little. By this means he will learn far more than [> 

\ if he were forward and talkative ; and when he | 

J does express his opinions, they will have their 

\ due weight. It is a mistake which very many c 

\ fall into, when they first take their place among \ 

\ men, that they know a great deal more than most 

people whom they meet, because there are not ) 

I _ ^ I 



\ CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 155 j 

t many wlio talk freely, or think it necessary to ? 

< tell all they know ; but in time they begin to f > 
\ learn that the most of their knowledge of men s 

and things was only in the memory, while those ) 

j; they deemed dull or superficial had lived and felt <> 

\ in the world, until their lips had become well \ 

nigh sealed in silence. A modest deportment is \ 

\ that which best becomes a young man when in ; J ; 

) the company of those who are older than him- ) 

< self. They may not have as much of certain s 
kinds of knowledge as he has ; but they are far \ 

\ more learned in the book of human life, and \ 

s . . j 

\ can teach him many a lesson that it will be good \ 

\ for him to learn. How often does the forward- b 

I ness, confidence, and dogmatism of a young man ] 

\ cause a quiet smile to rest upon the lips of his s 

\ seniors ! It is, therefore, wiser for a young man \ 

to think, observe, and question, but to make < 

i up his opinions with caution, and not be too free § 

about expressing them. For it is more than ? 

) probable, that a few years will show him the ;| 

fallacy of nearly all his first conclusions. s 

< One of the first things which a young man < 
I will notice in those into whose society he is < 
5 thrown, will be a habit of detraction. When i 

allusion is made to an absent person, some censo- j 

rious remark will follow; or there may possibly s 

J be allegations made, touching, remotely, his in- s 



{ 156 ADVICE TO Y3UNG MEN. 



i 



tegrity ; though these will, in general, be exceed- \ 

ingly guarded, yet sufficiently plain to create a \ 

prejudice in any honest mind. We would give \ 

a double caution on this subject, — first, not to \ 

believe much over half of what may be alleged \ 

against the absent ; and second, to be exceeding- s 

ly careful not to repeat any thing that has been \ 

said, and for two reasons — lest injustice be done \ 

to an innocent person, and lest your remark > 

should reach the ear of the party traduced, and ? 

you be called upon to prove the allegations, ;> 
which you might find it very difficult to do. If 

^ possible, never be a party in the petty mis- < 

\ understandings that are of too frequent occur- \ 

s rence, growing out of serious or unimportant \ 

\ charges made against one individual by another, 

\ from malice, or a foolish habit of repeating every \ 

\ thing that is said. Some persons are always in- ;i 

\ volved in troubles of this kind. The best way to \ 

\ avoid them is, to make it a rule of conduct never \ 

\ to say any thing against another except for the \ 

\ purpose of guarding those who are likely to be \ 

\ injured by a corrupt or dishonest person. When- ) 

ever an utterance of what you know to be the \ 

truth, will do this, your duty is a plain one ; you J 

\ must tell the truth, and be willing to take the \ 

f consequences. < 



If a misunderstanding occur between you and j 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 



157 



another, seek an explanation immediately. Do s 

not stop to listen to the plausible suggestions of 4 

pride, but go at once to the party, and have a \ 

clear understanding of the point of difference. <; 

In nine cases in ten, you will find that no real \ 

cause for the difficulty exists. Either he or you \ 

has misconceived the other's words or actions ; jj 

or something either you or he has said has been ;> 

repeated with offensive additions. This is al- \ 

ways a trouble worth taking. Even if it do not \ 

result in settling the difficulty, it enables you tc \ 

understand exactly the cause of the unhappy \ 

estrangement ; and this is some little satisfaction. \ 

More serious consequences than a simple 5 

closing of friendly intercourse need occur, ex- J 

cept in very extreme cases. But, sometimes, s 

it will happen that you are obliged to do more J' 

than merely give up the acquaintance of an £ 

individual ; justice to others may require the \ 

exposure of something said or done by an un- {> 

principled individual, by which he becomes your £ 

enemy. Such a person will, as a general thing, \ 

seek to injure you in all possible ways by false \ 

representations. The best antidote to all he \ 

may say, is a blameless life. This will be your \ 

best justification in the community. The charac- J 

ter of every man makes a certain impression, and £ 

if any thing not in accordance with this impres* $ 



158 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



\ sion be said against him, it is never fully believed. 

<> Still, any one will suffer more or less in the good 

< opinion of society, if an evil-minded person in- 

l dustriously circulate false accusations against 

\ him ; and proper means should be used to si- b 

i lence him, if his charges amount to dishonesty ) 

\ or immoral conduct. This may sometimes be 

done by demanding an interview in the presence '? 

of mutual friends, and then requiring proof of his 
I allegations, or a denial of them. A common tra- ^> 

ducer is generally exceedingly tender of his own 
reputation ; while he calls into activity a very 
whirlwind of evil accusations against others, the 
first breath of censure that falls upon his own 
fair fame disturbs him to the very centre. Once 
convict such a person, before witnesses, of hav- i 

mg made false accusations against you, and you 
not only sfrip him of power to do you much 
injury in the future, but make him exceedingly 
cautious about what he says of one who has the 
nerve and decision to call him to an account for jj 

what his malignant spirit may cause him to say. 
Pride and a hasty temper occasion disagree- 
ments of the most serious character, and often 
s . . . ; 

> bring into open hostility those who have once 

> been the warmest friends. No immorality of 
conduct, no departure from integrity, no wrong ( 
lies at the foundation of the unhappy disagree- 



I 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 159 



ment. An insult has been given ; but whether 1; 
intentional or unintentional, it is often hard to J 
make out; and the party really insulted, or only \ 
imagining himself to be so, has flung back the s 
outrage into the other's face with maddening vio- J 
lence. This occurs on the instant, between per- s 
feet strangers as well as between intimate friends; t 
and too often the final result is an appeal to dead- «; 
ly weapons. Instead of the parties themselves > 
meeting for the purpose of ascertaining pre- I 
cisely the feelings and intentions of each other, 
and learning whether an insult were really in- 
tended, the insult is taken for granted, and mu- \ 
tual friends are called in to obtain formal and «; 
specific retractions of things said and done, o/ j; 
to arrange the sad and disgraceful preliminaries ? 
of a duel. These friends hold, as they imagine. \ 
the honor of their respective principals in pledge, \ 
and each requires of the antagonist party greater \ 
concessions and acknowledgments than he can \ 
feel it possible for him to make under such cir- \ 
cumstances ; and thus the breach is made wider ) 
instead of being healed, as it would be, in nine > 
cases in ten, if one or the other of the parties J 
themselves had sought for and obtained a per- \ 
sonal interview. < 
We remember seeing two persons, perfect jj 
strangers to each other, come into collision from \ 



160 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

a supposed insult, where it was clear none was '? 
intended. It occurred, strangely enough, at a 
lecture given to young men on their right con- j 
duct in life. The room was so much crowded ;> 
that all could not find seats, and near the door quite s 
a number were standing. They were arranged J 
against and near the wall, leaving a space of some \ 
yards between them and the first row of seats 5 
A young man, who had been sitting for about one ? 
half of the time occupied by the lecture, gener- i 
ously arose, and, stepping across the vacant space s 
to where another young man was standing, of- s 
fered him his seat. In doing this, the eyes of <j 
a number were necessarily upon him. Instead J 
of promptly accepting the offer when so much 
trouble had been taken, the individual standing j> 
declined doing so, and did it in a manner that 
was felt to be particularly offensive, although no J 
offence could have been meant. Be that as it < 
may, the young man retired to his seat in anger 1 
and mortification, and, instead of resting satis- ? 
fied in reflecting that what he had done was a 
generous offer of self-denial for the sake of an- 
other, and that no gentleman could wantonly in- s 
suit one who thus acted towards him, he brooded 
over what had occurred during the whole time 
the lecture continued, and finally brought himself j 
to the conclusion that he had been grossly in { 



r" 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 161 \ 

suited in public, and that nothing remained for J 

him to do, but to demand satisfaction. Accord- J 

ingly, the moment the lecture closed, he stepped s 

hastily up to the young man, and, with intern- J 

perate warmth, in the midst of a crowd of both I 

ladies and gentlemen, abruptly and insultingly ) 

demanded an explanation of his conduct. Sur- \ 

prised, yet indignant, at being thus rudely, and, \ 

as he felt, causelessly assailed, the other replied \ 

in about the same spirit as that in which he had 
been addressed. Blows were about to be ex- 
changed, when others interfered. Cards were 
then passed, and the belligerents parted in mutual 
anger. As the parties were strangers to us, we 
saw no more of them, and presume that no ex- 
change of shots took place in consequence, as 
the newspapers at the time did not chronicle any 
such event. 

In this, we see a fair specimen of the origin, or 
what might be appropriately called the causeless 
cause, of duels. It is no more than probable that 
the mind of the young man, who was standing dur- 
ing the lecture, had become so much interested 
in the discourse as not to be clearly conscious of 
what he did when his attention was disturbed by 
the kind offer of the other to give him up his 
seat ; and it is not at all improbable that he saw, 
a moment after it was too late, that he had acted 
11 

) 

? 



162 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

with little less than rudeness to a stranger, and 
meditated an apology as soon as the lecture 
closed. But all these better impulses were de- 
stroyed by a sudden and rude assault, for which 
there was no kind of justification. 

It usually happens that the person who imagines 
himself insulted, makes a reconciliation difficult, 
if not almost impossible, by offering in return a 
real insult, and then insisting upon acknowledg- 
ments and retractions from the other, while he 
never dreams of making an apology for his own 

< conduct. 

j; It almost always happens, in matters of this 

kind, that both parties are to some extent to 

i blame, and all difficulty may at once be arrested, 

5 if either party will reflect carefully upon his own 

< conduct, and determine to make an acknowledg- 

< ment of the thing in which he has wronged the 
other. This should be done as a matter of 

t simple justice, spite of all the inflammatory sug- 

gestions of false pride. Because another has 
wronged you, or insulted you, does that justify 
f your wrongs or insults ? You imperiously de- 

i mand of another an apology for what he has done 

\ or said, and yet are not willing to offer an apology 

; for your own conduct. First do what you require 

of him, and depend upon it, you will not find him 
backward in confession of error, or a readiness 



I j 

J CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 163 

\ \ 

\ to throw over the unhappy past the mantle of 
\ oblivion. To do this is not disgraceful, but hon- 
orable and magnanimous. It is a triumph of i 
reason over passion, of right over false pride and 
I a morbid self-esteem. \ 
{ If it should happen that a misunderstanding i 
j takes place with a young friend and another, and i 
i he call upon you to confer with the friend of the s 
offending or offended party for the settlement of ? 
\ the difficulty, do not hesitate about accepting the i 

< office of mediator, but, in doing so, let it be with i 
\ the determination to heal, not widen the breach. \ 
\ Your first duty will be to hear from your friend ) 
|; a full statement of all the facts in the case, and 

then get from the friend of the other party all i 

> that he has to allege against the person you \ 
) represent. Honestly, conscientiously, and impar- \ 
I tially weigh all the circumstances, without any \ 
s personal bias whatever ; and if you are satisfied j> 
5 that your friend has done wrong, tell him so, and s 
\ insist upon his acknowledging that wrong as a s 

> most imperative duty. This he may do without £ 
I dishonor : to refuse to do so would be dishonor- \ 
J able in the highest degree, for it would be a \ 
\ refusal to repair a wrong, which, if not done, ? 

< may lead on to the most direful consequences. i 
e The other party may have done wrong, and be <! 
? just as conscious of it ; but pride may keep back \ 



? 164 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. J 

its confession. The acknowledgment of your 

£ friend will be almost sure, if made in the right \ 

£ spirit, to bring back a fuller and more hearty ; 

\ 'acknowledgment of wrong from the opposite 

$ party, and then the work of reconciliation will be J 

I easy. Truly magnanimous conduct is that which s 

I involves self-sacrifice of some kind for the good J 

of others. Nothing is so hard to sacrifice as S 

\ false pride ; yet the conquest is always a noble \ 

one, for it is made for the good of others. As a > 

\ third party to any unhappy difference, be most s 

\ careful to avoid any thing calculated to inflame \ 

i the pride of your friend ; lead him rather to re- j 

s fleet more upon what he has himself said and J 

done, than upon the wrongs that he has suffered J 

\ from the other. This will give reason a chance to > 

\ act, and help him to see what it is his duty to do> s 

\ as well as his pleasure to require of another. \ 

t The great barrier that interposes itself in serious < 

J difficulties of this kind, is the disposition man- \ 

\ ifested by the belligerent parties to exact conces- t 

'( sions, but to make none ; and in this they are too \ 

\ often encouraged by the friends who have Hvm \ 

\ chosen to represent them. ) 

s A resort to deadly weapons, for me purpose of <; 

f settling a difficulty, is in no case justifiable, the <; 

j custom being founded upon false pride and a ) 

t false idea of honor. As the principal in a difli \ 



CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 165 

\ 

I culty, your duty is to seek by all right means to 

J satisfy the individual to whom you have given 

s offence, that it was not your intention to insult 

s him, or that you had been led away by passion to 

I say or do something that in your cooler moments 

\ you would not have said or done ; the supposi- 
tion is, that you, under no provocation, would 

\\ seek redress by a resort to duelling. If this will 

\ not satisfy, and there is a clear determination 

£ evinced to force you into a deadly conflict, make 

'< a firm resolution to refuse to accept a chal- 

s lenge, and abide by that resolution. You have 

'<' no more right to take the life of another than to 

\ give up your own. 

> Most men who fight duels are urged on to do 

!> so as much by the fear of being branded with 

s cowardice as from inflamed passions. But the 

I truth is, it is cowardice, and not courage, that 

< makes them fight. They are afraid of the unjust 

\ censure of the world ; they are afraid to do right, 

i lest it be called wrong. The truly brave man is 

\ ever ready to suffer martyrdom for the sake of 
truth, whether he be burned at the stake, or im- 

5 molated at the shrine of a hasty and false-judg- 

\ ing public. 

<; If you have been acting for your friend, in the 

\ hope of reconciling a difficulty, and all your 

\ efforts prove unavailing to prevent a murderous 



166 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. ^ 

{, \ 

encounter, refuse to stand as a second. If your 5 

friend will not do what is right and honorable in 

endeavoring to reconcile the difficulty, he forfeits <; 

t all claim upon you to go with him any farther in \ 

the matter ; and if all his honorable overtures \ 

'? and acknowledgments are repulsed, he should J 

;> have courage enough to refuse to accept a chal- 1 

s lenge to fight. If he have not, let him find some s 

I one less careful about principles than you are. 

As to duelling itself, or a resort to deadly <; 
weapons for the purpose of settling a difficulty, a 
moment's cool reflection must satisfy any one that 
j it is a most absurd practice, to say nothing of the 

I fatal wrong that it too often inflicts upon society. s 

5 There is nothing in it that tends to ennoble the (> 

\ human mind, but rather to debase it. In nothing I 
J that appertains to the duel is there any thing of 

i generous regard to another's good — of noble l 

\ self-sacrifice — of manly effort to raise the com- \ 

\ mon standard of virtue ; but, instead, there is a ;> 

narrow and blinding regard for self, and a 

\ trampling under fooi of the noble and manly \ 
\ spirit of forgiveness. Self, and only self, rules. 

i And what is gained by the combat ? One of the > 
\ parties may be killed; but does that make the ' ? 
> other a better man ? It may gratify his malig- 

l nant spirit of revenge, it is true ; but that makes 5 
^ him more the child of hell than of heaven ; and 

? i 



\ CONDUCT AMONG MEN. 167 



man's true destiny is heaven, and his right employ- ^ 

j ment here a preparation for this high estate. \ 

■> Society has claims upon every man which he 

s is bound to meet. His life is not, therefore, his 5 

i . i 

own to fling away at pleasure. To do so, is to < 

5 act unjustly ; and will this make a man any more \ 

j honorable 1 i 

\ From such considerations, it is clear that a 

> man may not only refuse a challenge to mortal I; 

combat without disgrace, but it is also clear that 

< to accept such a challenge is both dishonorable J 

\ and disgraceful ; for it involves a wrong to society, \ 

and encourages a practice that is cruel, and there- l 

i fore of hellish origin. j 

5 I 

We have dwelt upon the reprehensible practice £ 

\ of duelling, because it is an evil that still exists 

in society, and because every high-spirited, quick J 

s tempered young man is liable to get himself into $ 

difficulties with other young men of like temper- i 
ament. A quick temper is an hereditary failing, 

? and this may excuse a hasty ebullition of passion, j; 

? even to the extent of insulting a friend : but i 

" ... . c j 

f reason is given to all as a guide in life, and this i 

teaches that there is only one thing to do in such !> 

i a case ; and that is, to repair the wrong done, no ) 

matter at how great a sacrifice of feeling and \ 

pride. This is every man's plain duty. If 

another orTer you an insult, and refuse to with" 



168 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

draw it, shooting him is certainly a singular 
mode of redress. The feeling that could prompt 
you to do so, could be nothing less than revenge. 
Some one has very forcibly said, in referring 
to matters of this kind, " A gentleman will not in 
suit me ; none other can." This is sensible doc- 
trine; and if men had sufficient firmness to act 
upon it in all cases, there would be no duels. 



CHAPTER XVII. i 

COURAGE. i 



There are two kinds of courage, the one <; 

mere physical or brute courage, as it is some- s 

times called, and the other moral courage. \ 

Again, bravery in some is the result of an almost > 
entire unconsciousness of danger, no matter how 

impending it may be ; while in others it is the J 
result of a strong moral purpose overcoming a 

natural timidity and fear of consequences. We < 

find men who say that they have never known j; 

fear, and men whose coward hearts shrink a* \ 

the very thought of danger, acting with equa > 

bravery under certain circumstances. The one ) 



COURAGE. 



160 



meets the encounter with scarcely a thought of jj 

consequences, while it requires all the efforts of 5 

the other to overcome his natural dread of suf- < 

fering and death. The latter is, without doubt, jj 

entitled to most credit for bravery ; for he meets < 
the danger with a far more real knowledge of 

its character than the other. s 

The most exalted courage is, therefore, the > 

result of a high moral purpose, and this is the ? 

courage that every man should have : its founda- ;> 

tion lies in a determination to do right, at any i 

sacrifice, even of life itself, if that be required, I 

as in the defence of one's country when it is s 

invaded. It will often require as much courage j; 

to act right under certain circumstances as to < 

march np to a cannon ; and the man who will \ 

compel himself to face the world's opinions and ? 

prejudices in doing what he believes to be right, { 

will not shrink from his duty even if called \ 

upon to fight for his country. \ 

Every young man should feel cowardice to \ 
be a disgrace, and bravery a virtue that he is I' 
bound to practise. True bravery has no occa- 
sion to vaunt itself, for it does not seek, like \ 
the knights of old, for adventures. It is a sleep- f 
ing power in the mind, that only rouses itself t 
on occasion of more than ordinary moment , $ 
and then it acts calmly, but with firmness and 
decision. j 



170 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



A man who properly reflects is rarely a cow- 
ard. Some are more inclined to shrink from 
bodily pain than others, -and some are nervously 
J . sensitive in regard to the opinions of the world ; 
but reflection from right grounds will correct 
both of these defects, and enable a man to act 
with bravery under all circumstances. 

It is a thing of rare occurrence that a man 

<! loses his life at a time when he has put it in 

jeopardy in order to save the life of another; 

i t and yet we hear, almost every day, of persons 

being saved from almost certain death by the 

\ generous self-devotion of others. Of course, acts 

J of this kind should not be done with a mere 

\ recklessness that has in it no hope of success. 

> It would be madness, not true bravery, for a 

\ man who could not swim to throw himself into 

the sea in order to save a person who was drown- 

i ing, or to jump into a well filled with noxious 

gas in the hope of lifting therefrom one who 

s was on the point of perishing from its poison- 

j ous influence. A truly brave man looks at the 

means as well as the end, and will not risk his 

life unless there be a fair chance that in doing 

so he will be able to save the life of another. 

Around all who thus forget themselves in order 

to save others from injury or death there is a 

protecting sphere from above; and this is the 



\ COURAGE. 171 [ 

^ \ 

\ reason why so few, who take most imminent 

risks in order to save others from destruction, <; 

\ are themselves injured. Here, we believe, lies *i 

jj the truth in this matter. A brave man is one 

;> who looks away from himself, and seeks the s 

\ good of others. This is to act from heavenly \ 

\ principles, and must bring around him who so \ 

\ acts a sphere of protection from Heaven. J 

> Every man should, from principle, resist op- > 

> pression, and oppose an unyielding front to all § 
i attempts at invading his rights. He should do ^ 
s this as well for his* own protection, and that of > 
i those who are dependent upon him, as in order s 
jj to weaken the confidence of evil-minded men, j 
\ who seek to oppress every one, thus making f < 
\ them more cautious how tb jy put into practice \ 
$ their evil purposes. One unflinching adherent ? 

to right principles in the community saves num- ? 

< bers from becoming the victims of wrong. 5 

J Without courage a man is a curse to him- I 

self, and often a curse to others who may hap- «; 

pen to depend upon him. He is a victim to J 

causeless fears ; is ever dreading some evil that \ 

\ he has not the bravery to meet with a bold \ 

front, and strive vigorously to conquer. He sees ) 

\ some evil thing stealthily approaching his un- i 

f conscious neighbor, but, fearful lest he may suffer < 



j 

! 



172 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

? consequences himself, fails to give the alarm, 
and thus, with a base cowardice, permits an in- 
jury to take place that he might have turned i 
aside. It is no wonder that a coward receives ? 

< the brand of infamy. ^ 
s In the present state of the world, the courage I 
\ to act right in common society is the virtue i 
> most needed, and this every young man should ■: 

have. He should never flinch from speaking 

.he truth where its utterance will counteract \\ 
\ evil designs, or advance the knowledge and 

< practice of good principles. He is bound to $ 
t do this by every consideration that regards the \ 
\ well-being of society. As to what this one or \ 
\ he other may say, he has nothing to do with j 
\ that. He should have the courage to disregard \ 
s all such appeals to his self-love, or to the feel- £ 
\ ing of deference to the good opinions of weak- \ 
\ minded or bad men. The cardinal virtue in \ 

society is a determination to do right because \ 
\ it is right, regardless of consequences. Thia 
\ is true courage. \ 
There is a kind of courage, which takes on a dif- 
ferent and less imposing form than usually meets [ 
the eye, but which is oftener needed by young 
men than the bolder spirit of opposition to wrong, 
? which all regard as a virtue essential to perfect- \ 
ness of character. This is the courage to do ex- 

\ \ 



COURAGE. 173 

actly right, in small matters; or, what is equally 

important and harder to achieve, the courage to 

I acknowledge an error, and meet its consequences, I 

rather than, after getting into a wrong position, s 

§ continue in a wrong course, which can only lead jj 

I farther and farther away from right. To make I 

\ this clear, let us relate an occurrence in the history ) 

\ of a young man, who came near suffering a dis- ? 

\ graceful exposure that would have stained his b 

character in the eyes of the world. We will call 5 

I him John T . s 

He was honest, kind-hearted, social, and intelli- j 

S gent. These qualities gave him a good reputation, \ 

J and made him a favorite with every one. So ^ 

\ highly did the gentleman in whose employment \ 

\ he had been for some years, esteem him, that he ;> 

\ trusted him with his cash account, in the fullest \ 

\ confidence that every dollar which came into the J 

young man's possession would be as safe as if in j 

\ his own hands. \ 

) Now it happened that among the acquaintances J 

X of T , was a man of the class known as un- \ 

< thrifty. That is, he was a man who always con- <j 

J trived to spend more money than he earned. j 

\ T 's friendship for this person was of some { 



years' duration, and, notwithstanding the differ- 
ence in their characters, and we might say princi- 
ples, there existed a warm mutual attachment. 




174 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



One day, this man, whom we will designate as |» 

Mr. H , called upon his friend and said, ;= 

" John, I want a hundred dollars until day < 

after to-morrow; and you must get it for me." 

T — — shook his head and replied, s 

" Unfortunately, I am not the possessor of ten i 

dollars. If I had the money, it should be at your ? 

service." i 

" You must get it for me, T ," said 

H , in a tone that was almost imperative. " I J 

owe the amount, and promised, positively, to re- 
turn it to-day. If I don't do it, I shall be hurt 
in a quarter where I particularly desire to stand 
well." 

" I am sorry," replied John T . 

" Sorry is not the thing, my friend. I want j 

the money. If it was two days later, I could get 
it from Linton. He says he will have it for me 
on Thursday. But to-day I must keep my word, l 

or I don't know what consequences may follow. ) 

H — — spoke in a troubled way, and looked < 

really anxious. J 

" Did Linton say he would let you have a hun- > 

dred dollars on Thursday V- \ 

" He did." 

" Positively ?" \ 

"Yes." j 

" And you think you may depend on him ?" < 






\ COURAGE. 175 j 

I \ 

" yes. His word's as good as his bond. If ) 

\ he says a thing, you may rely upon it." ;'. 

" I might borrow the amount for you until < 

Thursday," said T , with some hesitation of I 

J manner. •' 

I " It shall be returned to you on that day posi- \ 

tively. Get it for me, and you will lay me under j> 

I a perpetual obligation." ) 

\ "Call here in an hour, and I will see what \ 

\ can be done," said T . - \ 

{ H went away, promising to call in an ? 

s hour. \ 

The basis of the young man's suggestion, that ) 

he might borrow the sum for a couple of days, s 

5 was a thought of the funds in his hands, amount- '< 

\ ing to nearly three hundred dollars. He might ^ 

\ take one hundred dollars from this fund, and re- < 

place the amount on receiving it back from his } 

\ friend, and no one be hurt by the transaction. \> 

After H left, this thought was looked at a \ 

\ little more narrowly. " I've no right to use a \ 

dollar of that money," he said to himself. " It is \ 

s placed in my hands for safe keeping, not to lend. \ 

No — no. I cannot do this. But where else can ) 

\ I borrow the amount?" ;> 

\ Now T was a prudent young man in his \ 

I expenditures, always keeping them down to his \ 

income at least, and generally something below it. J 



176 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. g 

f 

So he never had occasion for borrowing, and had, j 

in consequence, no borrowing facilities. To whom J 

should he now go, and ask for the loan of a hun- £ 

dred dollars to be returned in two days? He s 

would be ashamed to look any one in the face and J 

make that request. He was not in business, \ 

that he needed a sum like that to-day, which * 

might be returned from business receipts on the \ 

next. jj 

So, borrowing was out of the question, and 

thought came, in a troubled state, back to the ) 
funds in his hands. He felt bewildered and anx- 
ious. Time was passing. The minutes glided 

along with swiftly tripping feet. The hour would \ 

soon be gone. It occurred to him to ask his em- \ 
ployer to let him have a hundred dollars for a few 

days. But, what urgent use had he for a hundred s 

dollars ? How could he explain, satisfactorily, this \ 

sudden want to his employer, who was a man apt \ 

to look to the bottom of things that came under \ 

his observation? No — he could not ask for a loan, ? 
when, if questioned, he must say that he wished 

to lend the money to an acquaintance. \ 

The hour expired, and H came in punc- \ 

tually. >; 

" Have you the money for me V he asked, in 

an expectant manner. i 

T shook his head. i 






S COURAGE. 177 

? 1 

s' . ) 

< A shadow of disappointment went over the |» 

I face of H , who made a half despairing ges- 

\ ture. \ 

> "I fully depended on you," he said. jj 
|j " There is no one from whom I can borrow/' \ 

I saidT . jj" 

" Gan't you get the amount for me here ? Won't 
s Mr. Harwood let you have it ?" 

I " I wouldn't make such a request of him for 

i the world. He is a man of very peculiar and 

I strict ideas." \ 

H commenced moving about in an exceed- 

l ingly troubled manner. " It will be a dreadful 

I thing for me if I don't get this money. I can't 

\ tell what the consequence may be. And I only 

> want it for a couple of days." 

Now, John T had not the courage to bear 

i this exhibition of pain in his friend, nor the firm- 

l ness to resist the tempter who was urging him to 

use the money in his hands which belonged to an- 
5 other. So he yielded. 

"I might," he said, in a hesitating manner, 
u let you have the amount wanted out of funds 
belonging to my employer. It will scarcely be 
required in the business for a couple of days." 

H caught at this eagerly. 

" That will do ! That's just the thing !" he 
12 



178 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

\ 

replied. u Let me have a hundred, and you may \ 
depend on getting it back day after to-morrow." 

But T hesitated. i 

" I'm afraid," he said, " if Mr. Harwood were > 

to find it out, it would cost me his confidence — \ 

perhaps my situation." J 

" Does he examine the cash every day ?" ;! 

« No." \ 

" How often ? Once a week ?" j; 

" Usually." j; 

" Then there's no danger. I only want the 

money until day after to-morrow. You must let > 
me have it, my friend. Do me this service, and 

you will lay me under the greatest obligation." s 

Poor T , thus pressed, had not the courage < 

to say no. In an evil moment, he withdrew a 

hundred dollars from the cash entrusted to his care, ? 

and loaned it to his friend, who took the money, § 
and hurried away, without so much as leaving his 

obligation for the amount. < 

Half an hour afterwards, Mr. Harwood, the J 

employer of T , came in. The very sound > 

of his footsteps, as he entered, made the heart of 5 

T beat quicker 5 and when he looked into his $ 

face, he was conscious of a certain confusion of 
manner, that he feared would attract observation. 

He had never felt so strangely in the presence of \ 

any man in his life. j 



J COURAGE. 179 < 

" John/' said Mr. Harwood, soon after coming 

!; in, " bow much money have you in the cash I 

\ box ?" \ 

" 1 will see/' replied the young man, turning away I 

$ quickly, so that his suddenly flushing face might <! 

5 not be observed, and walking slowly to the fire- ) 

J; proof. He moved slowly, in order to get time \ 

s for thought. What should he say ? Acknow- I 

ledge that he had used a hundred dollars, and for i 

;> what purpose ? No — he had not the courage to ) 

Jj do that only right thing under the circumstances. [> 

£ He had not courage enough to speak the exact \ 

\ truth, and meet the consequences. So he brought ^ 

j; out the cash box, and after counting over the £ 

\ money, answered his employer's question. \ 

" We have a hundred and sixty-three dollars \ 

\ out of bank, sir." \ 
\> " Is that all Y' said Mr. Harwood, speaking as 

\ if in some doubt. " I thought you had about j 

i three hundred dollars." j 

" Let me count it again," said T . Ah ! \ 

) here was subterfuge ! Alas ! alas ! How quickly v 

) does one wrong act produce consequences that \ 

tempt to the commission of other wrong acts ! s 

\ And, with hands from which he with difficulty ) 

< kept back a visible tremor, he counted the money \ 

\ over again. i 



180 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

"Just one hundred and sixty-three dollars/' he 
repeated. 

" I was mistaken/' remarked the employer. 
" But no matter. I promised to let Mr. Todd have 
two hundred, thinking that we had more than that 
sum out of bank. I will draw a check for a hun- 
dred, and when he comes in, you can give him 
£ that and a hundred in money." 
5 Something real or apparent, in the tone of Mr. 

< Harwood's voice, troubled the clerk. What would 
S he not have given to recall that act ! 
'? No further remark was made by Mr. Harwood. 

i Two days passed, and still the cash remained short 

s one hundred dollars. H had failed to keep 

I his promise. T spent the day on which the 

5 money was to be returned, in a state of anxious 



<; expectancy, and in the evening called upon his 
? friend. 

" My dear fellow !" exclaimed H , on seeing 

him. " I am really ashamed to look you in the 
< face. Linton disappointed me shamefully. He 
s promised me in the most positive manner that I 
f should have a hundred dollars to-day. But when 
<j I called on him, he said he had entirely forgotten 
J it, and used every dollar in another direction." 
$ " Will he let you have it to-morrow V 9 asked 
J T , in a husky voice. 



? 



< H- 



COURAGE. 181 

" He wouldn't promise me. But Fm in hopes 
of getting it out of him," was answered. 

" But suppose he fails you ! What then ?" 
I must get it somewhere else/' replied 



\ T sighed heavily, and looked troubled and 

;' anxious. 

t " Just see," he said, " the position in which I 

I am placed. If Mr. Harwood should discover the 

j; existing cash deficiency, I would be ruined in his 

I estimation." 

> " Oh, he'll not discover it !" replied H , 

I lightly. " You're nervous." 

$ u Iam nervous, and with reason," said T . 

I ll Mr. Harwood is a man of peculiar ideas. He 

\ would never forgive a breach of confidence like 

£ this, if he were to find it out; and I think sus- 

? picion has been excited." 

§ " Why do you say that Y* 

\ " In calling for the amount of cash on hand, 
with a view to lending a neighbor two hundred 

\ dollars, he was evidently disappointed, as well as 

\ puzzled, to find the sum smaller by over a hun- 

\ dred dollars than he supposed. If he should look 

£ at the balance called for by the cash book and con- 
firm his suspicion, just see where I would stand. 

\ H , you must return me this. money on to- 

morrow, and that without fail." 



\ " 1 

/ i 

£ 182 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. ;' 

<> ( > 

i \ 

i JI promised fairly, but did not perform. s 

\ The fact is, spendthrift habits produced money- jj 

I needs beyond his income, and the temptation to 

I re-venture at the gaming table had lured him from i 

[» the path of virtue. It was to pay losses, that he < 

had iniquitously borrowed from his too compliant < 

^ friend. \ 

\ On the next day, a customer paid in the sum 

of one hundred dollars. As T- held his pen 

in hand, about to make an entry of this sum 
5 in the cash book, an evil counselor suggested the 

omission of the entry for the present ; or, until 
5 H returned the missing hundred. If Mr. 1: 

s f - 

Harwood should notice and speak of this omission, 
he could treat it lightly as an error. The fine edge > 

'I of his moral sense was already touched. A little 5 

s while he debated the safety — not the right or 

) wrong — of this course. He could not see all 

s clear ; but he withheld his pen from making the J 

entry, at least for the present, and shut up the \ 

cash book. There followed a sense of relief, as \ 

the peril of his situation seemed lessened by this 
act ; but a new uneasiness succeeded the product \ 

of wrong in another direction. That failure to 
make an entry of cash received, in order that, in 
case of examination, a balance, in agreement with 
the actual amount of cash on hand, might appear, i 



L 



\ COURAGE. 183 | 

\ J 

j troubled him even while his thoughts were busy ? 

1 about other things. < 

Days went by, and still the friend withholding 

\ the money which he had borrowed of T , the 

i cash book continued to show a false balance, but ? 

one in accordance with the amount of money on \ 

hand. Mr. Harwood made his usual weekly ex- 
|, amination of the cash account, and passed it as s 

correct. How the heart of his unhappy clerk 
\ trembled as Mr. Harwood's eyes ran along the 

debit and credit entries, pausing, now and then, \ 
i as if trying to recall some receipt or expenditure i 

s which did not appear. The examination was 

s longer than usual, but closed at last, when the ) 

£ heart of T beat more freely. \ 

\ A day or two afterwards, H , who had not 

yet returned the money, called to see his friend. j 
!• The face of T brightened, as the young man 

came in. He thought of the hundred dollars, and !» 
£ believed that he was about to receive it. Not so, I 

s J however. H had come again as the tempter. s 

" My dear T ," he said, as he stood holding 

> the hand of his too compliant friend, " I am mor- j; 

;j tified to death about those hundred dollars. I 

£ can't tell you what I have suffered on account of I 

I my failure to keep faith. Linton deceived me ] 

'\ shamefully. I thought him a man of his word; < 

but now I see that he is a mere trifier." 

\ 



'< 184 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. i 

; ...... 

I " It places me in a bad position," replied \ 

) T . " In a very bad position. " J 

\ u I know it does, and that is what grieves me, ;> 

j I wouldn't have had a thing like this happen for ) 

the world/' \ 

" When do you think you can return it ?" asked \ 

\ T . \ 

"Well, that's just what I came in to talk with 5 

\ you about. If I can get fifty dollars to-day, I can b 

\ certainly return you the hundred to-morrow, and \ 

\ the fifty on the day afterwards." \ 

<] T was silent. t 

\ Ci You can get it for me," said H . \ 

<; T was still silent, standing with his eyes £ 

I; upon the floor. He had heard it suggested, within I 

t a day or two, that H gambled. He now felt j> 

\, sure of it. How was fifty to produce a hundred \ 

\ and fifty in the short period of two days, except \ 

s in some perilous venture like that at the gaming [ 

\\ table ? We regret to say, that T was not l r ; 

\ shocked, as he ought to have been, as he thought 

\ over the probabilities in regard to this suggestion. j; 

) The position in which he had placed himself, and 

the wrong acts already done, had, as before inti- j 

mated, touched his moral sense. The question \ 

now debated was, as to the chances in favor 5 

of success on the part of H if he should lend \ 

him fifty dollars more. \ 



COURAGE. 185 



"Linton's failure to keep faith has put me in <; 

a most unfortunate position towards you," said !; 

H , in an insinuating way. " I would not have \ 

touched the money if I had dreamed, even re- s 
inotely, that he would break his word." 

u How are you to get a hundred and fifty dol- j 

lars out of fifty f asked T . \ 

11 1 do not care to explain, now, the operation I \ 

shall make. But I have the way clear enough. ? 

Get me fifty dollars, and we will all be out of this \ 

unpleasant difficulty in the course of at least two ) 

days." . < 

u You said that you could return me the one < 

hundred to-morrow." \ 

u I can and will," replied H . < 

It was plain, now, to the mind of T , that \ 

his friend gambled in some way ; and the thought \ 

occurred to him, that, seeing the confidence with ? 

which he spoke, he might have some weak victim ) 

in his toils from whom his superior skill would < 

surely abstract the money he promised so confi- s 

dently to replace. ) 

Ten days previous to this such a thought would I 

have shocked the mind of T ; but peril, and 

the beginning of wrong, combined to obscure his ? 

moral perceptions. He was so anxious to get j 
back the sum which he had so weakly taken from 

the funds entrusted to his care, that he did not \ 



i 



<! 

< 186 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

s 
s 

'( pause to scrutinize the means by which his debtor 

s should place him all right again. 

> Still, the tempter was not permitted to bear him 
i down without a struggle. There were better 

counselors near, and they gained an audience be- 
ll fore blind action followed. From these came this 
<; suggestion : That he should stop where he was ; 

> and let the hundred dollars go rather than touch 

> another penny of Mr. Harwood's money. Gam- 
;j bling, they said, was a crime; and that if his 
b friend were really a gambler, no faith could be 

< placed in his word ; for a gambler was a robber, 
and would plunder friend as well as stranger; 
and, moreover, if he furnished him with the \ 
means of doing evil, he was alike criminal. \ 

" But what can I do V\ answered T , in 

his own thought. " How can I replace this 
money V 

" Have the courage to do right," counseled 
the friends of his soul, " Go to Mr. Harwood. 
Tell him what you have done, and ask to have 
the money charged to your account. Better 
lose the sum ten times over, than go forward a 
step in the way you are now tempted to walk 
in." 

But the thing that T — — lacked was the 
courage to tell Mr. Harwood what he had done. 

" I will try this way of escape first/' he an- 



i 

< COURAGE. 187 

\ swered, "and then, if it do not bring me out all 

right, I will make a clean breast of it to Mr. Har- 
\ wood/' 

All right? Poor bewildered young man ! 

There is no coming out right if we take the wrong 
i road. 

It is with pain that we have to write the truth. 
] T abstracted from his employer's funds fifty 

dollars more, and gave the sum to his false friend. 

On the next day, fifty dollars, instead of the pro- 
j mised hundred were returned ; but, on the day 

\ succeeding, H , instead of producing the re- 

5 maining hundred, succeeded in borrowing seventy 

\ dollars more from the weakly compliant clerk. 

< The two young men had now become involved 
s together in wrong. If T broke with H , 

the hundred and seventy dollars were lost beyond 
\ the chances of recovery, and he could not endure 

that thought. He was well satisfied that H 

gambled ; but while he regarded the vice with 
) detestation, he was so anxious to get back the 

s funds taken from his employer, that he said, in 

i justification of his conduct, in lending further 

sums, " It is none of my business how he gets 
the money. " But it was his business. In fur- 
nishing the means to gamble, no matter under 
what pretext, he became involved in the guilt of 
his false friend. 



I - ] 

I 188 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

t 

In order to keep the unhappy clerk in his toils, ij 

i H would return small sums, say twenty or j 

J thirty dollars at a time. But he was sure to get at least j 

s a hundred from him within two or three days. s 

§ And this dishonest and dangerous course of con- \ 

<j duct went on for three or four months, until the \ 

I amount of T 's depredations on his employer's ? 

5 funds, had reached the sum of six hundred dol- i 

? ... s 

i lars ! Twenty times during this wretched period, s 

had T — — made up his mind to go to Mr. Har- ;, 

i wood and lay the matter before him without dis- i 

1 guise. But his courage as often failed. He had J 
J> gone wrong in the beginning through lack of cou- \ 
'!> rage to say no, to a tempting friend ; and he kept ( ^ 

going further and further wrong through lack of s 

J courage to stand still and face the evil conse- 5 

2 quences that stood in threatening attitudes before < 
s . . s 
J him. In order to cover his abstractions of money, ? 

!« T- had recourse to omissions and false en- i 

i < 

;> tries.* ' 

J The experience of those few months, were the . j 

J bitterest of his whole life. Night and day he was <; 

\ oppressed by a sense of impending danger. He j; 

} dreamed of disaster and ruin. The presence of ? 

\ Mr. Harwood was always like that of a judge \ 

\ about to pronounce some dreadful sentence, instead 5 

} of a kind friend and confiding employer. Un- J 

happy young man ! How were all the springs of \ 



t-^- 



COURAGE. 189 \ 

\ \ 

life dashed with bitterness ? For lack of courage ] 

to do right, he was now involved in transactions J 

> that threatened to destroy his good name, and ruin jj 
\ all his worldly prospects. ? 

" John," said Mr. Harwood one day, in a tone \ 

s that made his heart leap and tremble. Mr. Har- ;> 

\ . wood was standing at the desk, with the cash book ) 

< open before him. s 

> The young man came up to the desk, feeling jj 
something like a prisoner about to receive sen- \ 

\ tence. \ 

" Isn't this a mistake, John ?" and Mr. Har- \ 

s wood looked his clerk in the face, while he pointed X 

\ to a figure which John knew too well should be X 

s a three instead of a two; and being in the column < 

\ of hundreds, it made just one hundred dollars dif- s 

'\ ference in the cash balance. \ 

;> The clerk bent over the page, and affected to be ? 

adding up the column of figures; but he was hur- i 

J riedly debating the question of throwing himself \ 

i upon the mercy of Mr. H , and telling him, > 

jj without reserve, the whole story of his miserable ? 

connection with H ; but his heart failed him. J 

I He had not the courage to do right. ? 

" There is an error, certainly," he replied, in a X 

j * voice of forced calmness. u It should be three \ 

\ instead of two." t 

\ \ 



190 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

" Does your cash stand a hundred dollars 
over?" asked Mr. Harwood. s 

Whether the answer were yes, or no, T <; 

saw that his position would be equally perilous. 
Ah ! if he had only possessed the courage to meet ;j 

this sad affair face to face long ago, and terminate all J 

by a confession to Mr. Harwood, how different would \ 

it have been ! Deeply did he regret his weak- \ 

ness. Now, merciful influences were driving him 
into a place from which he could only hope for \ 

extrication through a full unburdening of himself. \ 

Shutting the cash book with a firm hand — despair 
gave him nerve — he looked up into Mr. Harwood's \ 

countenance with a face so pale, that the other j 

ejaculated in surprise — \ 

« John ! John ! What ails you ?" 

" Mr. Harwood, I want to talk with you a lit- 
tle." John's voice was husky. His lips played 
uneasily, and there was an unnatural twitching j; 

of the muscles all over his face. 

" Is anything wrong, John ?" asked Mr. Har- J 

wood, firmly, but in a tone so kind and so encoura- 
ging, that all reserve instantly fled. < 

" Yes, sir ; very wrong," replied the young 
man, as the tears came into his eyes. " I am in 
sore trouble, sir." f ? 

" On what account, John ? Sit down. There, 

compose yourself. Consider me your best friend, \ 

) 

) 
.1 



COURAGE. 191 



\ and speak as freely as if you were making eonfes- 

j> sion to heaven." 

I The poor clerk was so much overcome by this 

< kind appeal, that he covered his face and wept 

J bitterly for some time. Then he told, without 

( disguise or extenuation, the whole story of his 

i wrong deeds. 

\ Mr. Harwood listened with grief and indigna- 

\ tion to the unhappy recital. 

I " My poor boy," he said, with much feeling, 

) for he was attached to his clerk, " has it come to 

\ this ? John ! John ! How could you have been 

> so lacking in the courage to do right ?" 

? " I did not mean to wrong you, sir," said the 

j? young man earnestly. "And now, if you will let 

> me serve you until I can pay back the debt, I will 
r i deny myself all but the barest necessaries of life, 
I until we are even. I do not expect you to confide 
\ in me as you have done. The high trust you re- 
posed, I have betrayed. Oh, sir ! if you knew 
what I have suffered ! if you knew what I suffer 

\ now !" 

s " Wrong always brings suffering, John." 

K " I know it, sir. I have proved that it is so, to 
my deep sorrow," answered the unhappy young man. 
" May the suffering be a salutary discipline," 

\ said Mr. Harwood. 



192 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 



u I will die rather than yield again under any 
enticement/' replied John, in tears. 

Mr. Harwood was a true man. He understood 
clearly John's position, feelings, and character. 
He felt for hirn deeply, but he could not pass so 
serious a matter by lightly, nor trust his clerk as 
fully as he had done before. He kept him, how- 
ever, in his service, and kept, also, his secret. 
If the young man had possessed the courage to 
face the first consequences of his wrong act, had 
come to him immediately on discovering that 

H had deceived him, then he would have 

shown an element of character on which great 
reliance might be placed. It was the want of 
courage to face unpleasant consequences, rather 
than continue to walk in a wrong course, that left 
on the mind of Mr. Harwood, a doubt in regard 
to him. He felt that he might be tempted, and 
fall ; not from evil inclination, but from want of 
firmness and courage. And so it took a long time 
for the old confidence to be restore-d. But time 
proved the lesson to have been effectual. The fear 
and suffering of that brief period of wrong, had 



i penetrated so deeply, and left such vivid memories, 

\ that he was in little danger of being lured again ) 



from the path of rectitude. 



I — 



-»-\--_^w-_-W -V- -/"„-_ 



RELIGION. 193 



\ man obeys divine laws. The first obeys only 

s 



> the civil law ; the second obeys the civil law 
as well as the moral law, for both are in- 
volved in the latter ; but the spiritual man obeys 
both civil and moral as well as divine laws, 
because the divine law includes all the rest 
From this it is clearly seen that the spiritual, 
or truly religious man, must be a moral as well 
as a civil man ; that, in fact, he is the only 
true man in society, or he who regards the 
good of the whole from an internal and spirit- 
ual ground, and not from any external and self- 
ish considerations. 

Although the very life and true vital energy 
of society is religion, yet it is a subject of dif- 
13 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

^ RELIGION. 



There are three classes of men in the world ( 
— the civil man, the moral man, and the spirit- < 

ual man. The civil man lives in mere external £ 

obedience to civil laws, because his own well- \ 

being is secured thereby ; the moral man not 
only regards the civil law, but lives also in 
obedience to moral laws ; while the spiritual 



194 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

ficult introduction in a work like this. Christ- 
endom is divided into so many sects with variant 
and opposing doctrines, — and doctrine is abso- 
lutely necessary to religious belief, — that there 
is great danger of giving offence where none is 
intended, and injuring the usefulness of the 
book by creating a prejudice against it. Still it 
is felt to be of such vast importance, that we 
would consider our work as greatly deficient if 
we were to pass it by. 

Whoever has read carefully the first three 
chapters of this book, will clearly see the ne- 
cessity of religion, or a means whereby man may 
\ return to a state of heavenly order and conse- 

\ quent happiness. Truth must be the basis of 

\ religion, for that leads to good; the false and 

I the evil are inseparable companions. The Bible 

is the word of God, or Hjvine truth, and there- 
fore that must be the basis of religion. And yet 
we have doctrines of the most opposite charac- 
{ ters; and those who hold them all appeal to the 

? Bible, and profess to find proofs therein to sub- 

$ stantiate them. Of course, all cannot be true, 

for there is only one true system of religious doc- 
l trines, and all that is variant to that must be error 

$ Let every young man who has arrived at ma- 

\ ture age, when the whole responsibility of life 

i and its consequences begin to rest upon his 



RELIGION. 195 



own shoulders, look at the subject of his reli- 
s gious views with an earnest desire to know the 

truth for its own sake, and in this spirit canvass I 
them thoroughly. The means which God has ? ? 
<> given him for the determination of truth when I 

I presented to his mind, is his reason ; and this he j 

\ must exercise vigorously, holding, at the same < 

< time, his mind in freedom to adopt whatever j 

s he clearly sees to be rational as well as scrip- !> 

j; tural. Because my father has believed a set of 5 

j religious doctrines, that cannot make them true £ 

!> to me, unless I can understand them clearly. \ 

) While I was a child, and he was responsible for j 

my religious belief, he was bound to teach me 
the doctrines he conscientiously believed to be \ 
\ true. But when I became a man, and the re- 

sponsibility was transferred to me, my first duty 
> was to canvass the whole matter fairly, and adopt 

or reject according to the best light I could 
) obtain. And this course should be pursued by 

every one, on the ground that nothing is truth 
5 to the mind that it does not clearly understand. 

s To adopt a thing as true because others believe 

t it to be so, never advances a man a step, never 

\ gives him the smallest ability to fight against 

J evil in his own heart. It is by truth alone that 

|j a man combats with what is false and evil ; 

\ and this must be truth to him, not to another 



S-i/WVWtf 



*^V ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

S ) 

^ From this every young man, who thinks seri- 

\ ously on the subject of religion, will see the i 

\ obligation under which he lies to examine into I 

> the very foundation of his religious belief. If it 

? be a true belief, it will bear any amount of scru- ) 

> tiny, and show its own brightness and excellence I 
£ the more thoroughly it is canvassed. If it be \ 
;> not true, the quicker that discovery is made the ? 
\ better. Is there any one who loves the truth for \ 
\ its own sake who can object to this ? No, there 

i cannot be. \ 

> Some writers, who have given advice to young s 
? men, when they came to treat of religion, have \ 
\ .ecommended them to attend church regularly, 

and to assume devout appearances when there, \ 

\ because, by so doing, they would be thought \ 

\ moral and religious, and thus stand a much bet- \ 

ter chance of being taken by the hand, and i 

s pushed forward in the world. We have not ^ 

<; only seen such advice in books, but have heard < 

it repeatedly urged upon young men, by persons J 

calling themselves religious. <j 

For a young man to do this, we should say, \ 

would be for him to' act hypocritically. Any \ 

one who attends church, and assumes a religious \ 

exterior from mere selfish and worldly ends, does \ 

himself a greater injury than he supposes. Far \ 



better would it be for him to remain at home. \ 



} RELIGION. 197 I 

s Too many young men both think lightly and \ 

< speak lightly of religion, as if it were something 

not intended for sensible people Bat, as re- ;> 

I ligion is the means by which a man is able to j> 

\ overcome the corrupt and evil tendencies of his s 

nature, and rise into a life of heavenly order, we £ 

;» think it a matter of sufficiently grave importance 5 

to command the earnest attention of every one. ? 

s Mere canting and blind enthusiasm, of course, t c > 

> are not religion, and those who ridicule and cen- 

!> sure these should be very careful not, at the 
i same time, to make assertions or create impres- 
jj sions injurious to true religion. 

s All true religion is founded upon a just idea 



< of God. A false notion of God results inevi-, ^ 

tably from a false religion. The most important $ 

\ thing in the outset is, therefore, the formation of «; 

\ a just idea of the divine Being. The Bible tells \ 

^ us that " God is love." Now, infinite and di- \ 

\ vine love must seek to bless others out of itself; \ 

] and from this we conclude that God is ever 

\ seeking the good of his creatures, and that re- J 

I ligion is nothing more than such a love to God ] 

t and man as leads us to obey the precepts of \ 

\ the one and seek the good of the other. The \ 

\ assumption, therefore, of exterior forms of sane- \ 

s tity are nothing, if love to God and man be not > 

\ in the heart. Religion is a something that is > 






? \ 

? 198 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

S ? 

eminently practical ; it goes with a man into all \ 

his daily avocations, and regulates every transac- \ 

tion of his life. If, in his business, he pursue \ 

l his own interest so eagerly as to hurt his neigh- 5 

bor's interests, he, of course, does violence to a \ 

true religious principle. No matter what he \ 

> professes to believe or be; in that act he has \ 
s offended against the doctrine that " religion is \ 
I love to God and man" and therefore done evil ? 
I before his Maker, whose very essence is Love. 

5 The religion of far too many is a Sunday re- s 

> ligion. It does very well for the Sabbath, when c 
there are no worldly interests to be looked after, 

\ and when an exterior of sanctity is not in the 

least in the way of a sharp bargain. But when £ 

Monday comes, other matters are to be looked & 

1 after, which it would not do to associate with |> 

i religion, lest a thing so holy should suffer vio- < 

) lence and be brought into disrepute. The reli- s 

gion of these persons consists in a faith in cer- 
tain doctrines, by which they are to be saved, 

and the bringing of religion down into the world, \ 
<? by which it is in danger of suffering violence, 

1 as they understand it, is to talk about these doc- b 

\ trines among men of the world, with whom they \ 

> are daily engaged in driving hard bargains. No \ 
^ doubt the least said, the better, under these cir <j 
\ cumstances ; and in keeping silence, therefore, \ 
\ they are right. £ 



RELIGION. 199 

Bat what is really meant by bringing religion 
into the world, is for men to take with them, in I 

their business and social intercourse, that regard ; 

for the neighbor's good which will prevent the ] 

taking of any advantage of him whatever. Who- J 

ever attempts to do this will not find it, how- 
ever, a very easy task. His self-love will be 
ever prompting him to do as others do ; that is, ;» 

to sacrifice others' good in striving to secure 5 

his own ; but if he be truly endeavoring to act ;j 

from a religious principle, he will shun the evil jj 

of overreaching his neighbor, because it is a sin J 

against God ; and in so doing he will receive 4 

divine power to overcome it. ? 

Here we have given a simple instance of 
how religion is to be brought down into every- < 

day life. From this all may see how in every < 

act a man may make a principle of religion 
the governing law. If all men pursued their j; 

business upon a basis such as this, we would 
see none of those fluctuations and disturbances, ? 

throughout the whole commercial world, that row 
make the success of an honest man so very 5 

doubtful. There would be health in the entire J 

body, from the skin to the vital regions of the I 

heart and lungs. \ 

If a true regard to religion will produce i 

health in so diseased a community as that en- 



-^- i 



200 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

gaged in trade, where nearly all, in the eager 

pursuit of wealth, care not who loses if they gain, ? 

it is every man's duty to endeavor, as far as he j 

is concerned, to bring it down from the church > 

and the altar into real life. <, 



CHAPTER XIX. 



BAD HABITS. 



? Under this head we wish to say a word o? 

> t two on smoking, drinking, and swearing, three 

;> very bad habits. 

^ In regard to the first, — that is, smoking, — we 

< would earnestly recommend every young man 

< not already addicted to it to avoid contracting 

< a habit that must injure the health, and which 
5 is exceedingly disagreeable to almost every one. < 
$ Tobacco is a vile and offensive weed, and the ex- jj 
s tensive use of it that now prevails, is one of the lj 
j> most singular circumstances, connected with the > 
s history of the past and present centuries, that i 
\ has occurred. We see men of intelligence and \ 

refinement snuffing it up their noses, chewing it, 

!; and smoking it, with an earnestness that would 



---N_-^_ ---_->- 



5 BAD HABITS. 201 < 

I . \ 

< be really amusing, were it not that a feeling of ? 
disgust quiets the mind down into sobriety. j> 
What the use of it is, no one can tell, while J 
nearly all agree that it seriously injures the 

\ health. \ 

) Smoking, or the use of tobacco in any form, \ 

J is not a gentlemanly practice, for the simple rea- \ 

son that it is a selfish habit, which is always \ 

< disagreeable to others, while true gentility is a f 
deference to the comfort, convenience, and fre- i 

I quently to the prejudices, of others. To have § 

|j the room in which you are sitting filled with the < 

'] fumes of tobacco, or to have the smoke of a cigar ( 

s • puffed in your face, is certainly very disagree- ? 

<; able ; but it does not stop there : your clothes are !> 

l filled with the vile odor, your handkerchief is ^ 

i rendered offensive and useless, and your lips are I 

\ covered with a bitter and irritating deposit. < 

i The offence committed by the smoker is not i 

\ limited to these disagreeables. When he talks ^ 

\ to you, his breath nauseates you, and his clothes i 

fling around you a strong but stale odor of to- i 

I bacco. If you visit him at his room, the atmos- i 

phere is rank and oppressive. If you lend him § 

j> a book, when you get it back you are almost 5 

\ tempted to throw it into the fire, instead of re- <j 

fuming it to its place on the shelf, 

s How a young man can go into the company of \ 



\ \ 

\ 202 ADVICE TO TOUNG MEN. J 

\ > 

I ladies after smoking is more than we can com- <; 

\ prehend. We hardly think he would if he knew \ 

jj how offensive an odor he carried with him, and > 

how disagreeable to the nostrils of his fair friends j! 

is his breath constantly blown into their faces. 

We have heard bitter complaints from ladies in ) 

j> regard to this thing. \ 

\ Smoking is vulgar enough, but smoking in the 

s street is rarely practised, except by persons of 

> low habits. \ 
? As to the habit of drinking, little more is ne- 

\ cessary than to condemn it as a very bad habit. 

\ There has been so much said and written on the \ t 

\ subject within the last few years, that every one 

\ must understand its merits by this time. The 

<; fact that it does not conduce to health, and is an 

\ exceedingly dangerous habit, would be sufficient J 

> in themselves to condemn it, were not the sad 
i evidences of its direful consequences scattered so 

s thickly around us. J 

s The practice of swearing is another habit 

J among young men, and certainly a very weak 

s and foolish one, to say nothing of its profanity. 

? The worst part of it is the frequent taking of the 5 

J Lord's name in vain, which is expressly forbidden 

[• by God himself. Does it not seem strange that J 

5 a man should speak lightly, irreverently, and < 

< often blasphemously of the Being who created 



j! BAD HABITS. 203 

him, and who sustains him every moment of his 
I life, from whom he has every blessing he enjoys, 

and who is ever seeking his good ? Such a one 
will speak indignantly of the ingratitude of 
another; but what ingratitude is greater than 
\ his ! 

j! A young man who has a proper respect for 

himself will never swear. The habit is so en- 

\ tirely useless, and the language so offensive to 

> religion, morality, and good taste, that he will 

avoid it naturally. Whenever a young man is 

heard to use these vulgar and profane expletives, 

< it is a sure sign that he has been keeping low 
5 company ; for in none other do they commonly 
I prevail. 

Besides the three bad habits named, some 
young men fall into the practice of using the 
slang phrases common to the lowest classes of 

< society. For this there is no excuse in the 
J world. The practice might be gravely argued 

against, and its evils shown ; but that would be 
treating it with too much seriousness. The best 

? corrective of it is a simple declaration of the fact, 
that the habit is exceedingly offensive to good 
taste, and that a young man, who is so silly a8 

I to make use of " slang " in good society, is at 
once set down as low-minded and vulgar. 



5 204 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

jj A young man who had, in the earlier years of t 

his life, been brought into association with persons ? 

5 of little refinement, who thought it smart to ex- J 

s press their feeble ideas in slang phrases, naturally \ 

fell into the bad habit. As he grew older, and 

s was thrown among refined people, he became ob- £ 

jj servant, and saw, by contrast, the silliness of a 

] mode of speaking which associated even refined \ 

I and pure ideas, with coarse images, or vulgar say- 

\ ings; and so determined to correct in himself, $ 

\ what his judgment condemned. But he did not 

jj find this a very easy -matter. He had become so ' 

5 accustomed to the use of certain words, that they \ 

\ were forever coming to his lips, and indicating to jj 

others a low vein of sentiment which did not 

f ) really exist. < 

I He was what is sometimes called a rising young 

jj man ; and he was rising in even a higher sense than j; 

j> the words usually indicate — rising in mental and ^ 

jj moral progress, as well as in worldly things. In ? 

j! consequence, he was becoming gradually intro- l ^ 

i duced among people whose social rank was above 

s the one he had occupied when first entering the 

world as a man ; and where the tastes, refinements, 

jj and social proprieties of life are more observed and I 

j> regarded. ? 

} And now, in spite of his watchfulness over \ 



himself, he would, every now and then, shock the 



w~ 



J 



f r» 

) <> 

BAD HABITS. 205 \ 

ears of some lady or gentleman who had become i 

\ interested in him, by a word that betrayed the J 

£ character of his early slang-talking associates. \ 

\ In this refined circle, to which his real merit \ 

j gave him a welcome entrance, he met a young J 

!>, lady of beauty, accomplishments, and great moral i 

!> worth, who interested him from the first moment <; 

J of their acquaintance. The favorable impression ? 

\ was mutual; but it remained only upon one side. i 

\ The young lady's estimation of the man who in- 5 

I terested her in the beginning, underwent a change. s 

? Wherefore, this brief conversation with a friend < 

> will explain. < 

" How do you like Mr. W ¥* asked this \ 

s friend, alluding to the young man. j» 

\ u He is quite intelligent," was the simple an- ) 

\ swer. < 

\ " So I find him ; intelligent beyond the men $ 

> we ordinarily meet. And handsome," said the £ 
5 friend. !» 

f "A fine looking man, certainly; but ." J 

| "What?" \ 

\ " He hasn't always kept good company." J 

? " How do you know ?" ji 

> " He betrays, now and then, an acquaintance j; 
with terms and phrases that always offend good \ 

J taste." \ 

I " Ah, yes, now that you speak of it " said the \ 



I 

206 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN, 

friend, " I remember having remarked as much 
myself. Why, he uses, at times, down-right 
\ slang I" 

] " I know he does. At Mrs. L ? s last week 

i while he was talking earnestly, he let drop the 
\ words, ' It's all in my eye/ and again, ' He came 
\ up missing/ and then to my horror, certain in- 
> dividuals about whom he was speaking were 
' small potatoes V He saw that I was sur- 
|> prised at this last slip of the tongue, and colored 
$ deeply." 

" What a pity !" remarked the friend. 
i " It is, certainly, a pity that one with so many 

i excellencies should have such a blemish. Slang 
\ is and ever has been particularly offensive to me. 
J I always regard it as the sign of innate vul- 
1 garity." 

5 " I do not think Mr. W innately vulgar by 

$ any means," said the other. " On the contrary 

i there is an air of innate refinement about him." 

{• w So there is, taking him in the general ; but 

i this slang is the hand writing on the wall against 

s him so far as I am concerned. You may call it a 

I weakness on my part, if you will ; but I cannot 

holp it. The moment a gentleman or lady in- 
dulges in slang phrases, that moment I feel my- 



> self removed to a distance. We can never be 



intimate friends." 



BAB HABITS. 207 i 

\ 
The young lady was in earnest, and steadily re- 
pelled all advances from W -, whose feelings {! 

had become much interested in her. The reason J 

of her coldness he never knew. But the barrier i 

between them was a little habit, which had fixed > 

itself so firmly that he was not able to break \ 

wholly free from its tenacious hold. He was, 5 

really, as refined in heart as this lady; and as true ) 

a man as she was a woman. They were worthy \ 

of each other. And yet, he hung out a sign of "< 

vulgarity, and she mistook it for the index of a i 

vulgar quality with which she could have n<*in- ^ 
timate fellowship. 

But there is a habit which stands more in a i 

young man's way than the light one of using cant < 

and slang ; a habit that has marred the opening \ 

fortunes of thousands upon thousands. We do < 

not mean the habit of drinking — that terrible \ 

curse — but the habit of chewing and smoking i> 

tobacco. Of this vice we have already expressed £ 

an opinion. We refer to it again, as we referred $ 

to the use of slang phrases, in order to make ap- 5 

parent some of the ways in which it acts inversely ^ 

to a young man's interests in life. ) 

Edward T , aged twenty, was anxious to I 

get a situation that offered in a dry goods store, s 

and asked a friend of his family to speak to the s 

owner of the store about him. t 



\ 208 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

t . 

< tl I am particular about my young men," said 

<; the storekeeper. " What do you know of Edward 

S rn yt> j 

> " He's all right, I believe," was the answer. 
,; (C Fve known him for several years." 

( ] " Tell him to call and see me." \ 

i So Edward called, and mentioned his name. ) 

J " Ah, yes !" said the storekeeper. u Mr. L \ 

f spoke to me about you." ] 

> The young man took off his hat, and a cigar fell l 
'? from it to the floor. He did not see the contrac- t 
i tion of the merchant's brow as he stooped to pick 

\ it up. The decision was against him. Only a few 

< questions were asked. \ 
'] " I will see Mr. L about you in a day or 

j; two," said the storekeeper, " and let him know 

\ whether you will suit me. But don't depend on 

5 the place. There are two or three applicants." 

s "He will not suit me, Mr. L ." The friend 

\ of Edward met the storekeeper on the next day, > 

\ and this was the answer he received. 

l w Why not ?" was enquired. ) 

\ u I do not wish to hurt the young man's feel- 

) ings, and you need not repeat my objection, unless ? 

\ you think it may be of use to him. But young j 

s men with the habit he has acquired, rarely get the \ 

I mastery over it." j! 

| " What habit ?" asked the friend. 

c s 






S BAD HABITS. 209 J 

£ \ 

u The habit of smoking and chewing. I may \ 

£ be peculiar and over-exacting in regard to the S 

qualifications of my young men ; but I claim the 

privilege of having things in my own establish- > 

s ment to suit myself. I will not have a tobacco j» 

\ chewer about me. My floors shall at least be free \ 

from this defilement, and my customers spared the 

annoyance of having their stomachs turned by the 

\ segar-laden breath of a clerk. And beyond this 

i disgusting objection lies another and a serious one. 

I Young men who use tobacco, are apt to fall into ^' 

«, the habit of visiting segar stores, and lingering s 

< about them. There is danger in this of forming I 
> associations that may lead astray from good J 
\ morals; for there are, in all communities, idle or \ 
\ vicious men, who hang loosely on society ; and <j 

some of these are very apt to be found wasting i 

4 their time, or on the look out for prey, in the vi- i 

cinity of segar shops and drinking saloons, which \ 

< stand usually in very close proximity to each < 
\ other. So you see, I am not governed by any \ 
\ hasty prejudice. I look upon the matter from my ? 
\ own stand point, and, right or wrong, let my con- X 
jj victions form my own rule of conduct." 3 

\ And so Edward T lost an opportunity J 

<; that might have been the first upward step to for- < 

e tune ; for the place he wished to secure was in j 

I every way desirable, the merchant being a man of i 

14 * 



210 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



£ wealth, with a large business, and known to be 
} liberal in his views toward young men, if he dis- 
i covered in them the right business and moral 
i qualities. 

j In another case, the decision against a young 

£ man, who, in all other respects, suited his employ- 

\ ers, was made, on the ground of his excessive use 

of tobacco. An unusually dull season led the 

house of Messrs. E J , & Co., to a con- 

\ sideration of the propriety of reducing their large 

\ expenses, and on a conference of the principal 

members of the firm, it was resolved to dispense 

with the services of a salesman, a book-keeper, and 

two lads who had recently come into the store. 



s 



There was no question as to which of the book- 
keepers it was advisable to discharge ; but the de- 
cision was not so easy when the salesmen were 
referred to. The selection narrowed itself down \ 

to two young men, both competent, and one in J 

\ some respects a better salesman than the other, 

\ His name was Philip L . He had been mar- \ 

\ ried for two or three years, and his family con- \ 

\ sisted of a wife and one child. \ 

\ " Which of these two young men shall we re- ? 

\ tain, Philip or Edward V 7 \ 

) This was the question to be decided. 

u Philip is an excellent salesman," said one of 
\ the partners. < 

S _______ J 



f BAD HABITS. 211 j 

5 \ 

] " And so is Edward," remarked another. \ 

i > 

< " Yes, both are competent young men, but Philip > 

^ is, if anything, the superior." ) 

I " But one serious objection lies against him." 5 

I "What?" \ 

$ " His excessive and disgusting use of tobacco." \ 

\ To this all assented. \ 

i " He has become to me," said the last speaker, \ 

\ "really offensive. He fairly smells of tobacco. ) 

\ It seems to ooze through the pores of his skin. |> 

r The juice is squirted about, here, and there, and y \> 

> everywhere, or collected in teeming spittoons. jj 
£ You see it stealing down from the corners of his •; 

> mouth. It stains his lips, and pollutes his breath. <; 
4 He cannot but affect, with disgust, many cus- \ 
\ tomers." £ 



> 



" All too true," was the general assent to this. ^ 

" Now, Edward," he went on, " is a gentleman, j 

so far as offensive habits are concerned. He 1 

neither chews nor smokes. I have always liked 

him on this very account." { 

"So have I," and \ 

" So have I," went from lip to lip. jj 

" Then we will retain Edward, and let Philip 

go-" I 
" Philip has a family — Edward is single," was 

suggested. <; 

And then the matter was discussed anew, and \ 



U_- 



> 212 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

I with reference to the young man's position in life, 

jj But the disgusting vice was against him. It had 

<] always been a source of annoyance to the leading 

? members of the firm, who did not use tobacco in 

i any shape. Finally, it was decided to dispense 

s with the services of Philip L — — , and he was 

\ thrown out of a good situation, at a time when it 

i was almost impossible to obtain employment. Five 

'I years afterwards, Edward was taken into the firm 

> as a partner — Philip is still only a salesman on a 
^ moderate salary. Tobacco had ruined his pros- 
it pects. 

^ We might go on, adding instance after instance, 

s in which the habit we are condemning has 

> acted as a bar to advancement. Young men, 
? wrapped up in their own individuality, and wedded 
? to a self-indulgence, can hardly appreciate the 
I repulsive sentiments they often inspire in the 
) minds of good and influential men, who have it 
\ in their power to aid them at just the point where 
\ a helping hand is most needed, but we have given 
) two suggestive illustrations, and they must suf- 
) fice. 

It will never be known in how many thousands 

\ of instances, this bad habit of using tobacco has 

< stood in the way of marriage alliances. A suit, 

<; pressed earnestly, meets with a rejection. "Why? 

\ The lady need not give her reason. But some- 



BAD HABITS. 213 

t thing in the lover has not come up to her ideal of 

j a husband. She wants a free, rational mind to 

5 mate with her mind, not one that slumbers dream- 

s ' 

ily in the thrall of a sensual habit. She wants a 

j; man, not a slave. And so, as the lover advances, 

J she recedes. Or it may be that her heart has be- 

£ come interested. She has passed through a strong 

I conflict, and in pain and bitterness of spirit, averts 

\ her face, and resolves to walk life's path alone, 

rather than in soul-companionship with one who 

I has married himself to a vice from which few ever 

s disenthral themselves. 

( s Do not think lightly of a woman of this reflect- 

\ ive, deliberate, resolute character, nor say that, if 

jl a young lady doesn't choose to take you as you are, 

< why the loss is hers. That is a weakness unwor- 
£ thy of you. A woman with thought, decision, 
I and a spirit of self-denial like this, is a true wo- 
man, and worth a hundred of your pliant girls, 

f who are ready to take you at a word, segars and 

< all, and think themselves fortunate. What is a 
segar, or your favorite tobacco, to the life-compan- 

\ ionship of a true, wise, good, and loving woman ? 
\ If you cannot put them aside — if the filthy 

£ habit that would be a daily offence to her is dearer 

r j to you than her love — blame her not if she turn 

I away, though it be in sadness and tears. 



,_J 



214 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



CHAPTER XX. 



> HEALTH. S 

? < 

Late hours, irregular habits, and want of \ 

j attention to diet, are common errors with most < 

s 



mature life. Indeed, nearly all the shattered con- 
stitutions, with which too many are cursed, are 



5 young men, and these gradually, but at first im- 

!• perceptibly, undermine the health, and lay the i 

\ foundation for various forms of disease in after £ 

s life. It is a very difficult thing to make young < 

£ persons comprehend this. They sit up as late \ 

as twelve, one, and two o'clock, frequently, with- i 

( \ out experiencing any ill effects ; they go without j; 

'} a meal to-day, and to-morrow eat to repletion, jj 

with only temporary inconvenience. One night 

they will sleep three or four hours, and the next \ 

nine or ten ; or one night, in their eagerness to J 

get away into some agreeable company, they will 

take no food at all, and the next, perhaps, will eat 

a hearty oyster supper, and go to bed upon it \ 

These, with various other irregularities, are com- 

s mon to the majority of young men, and are, as 

< just stated, the cause of much bad health in I 






HEALTH. 



215 



abundant harvests of grain and other products 
meet for the sustenance of man and beast. But it 
is not for himself, and those immediately depend- 



> ent upon him, that his fields are rich with grain ; 

they could not consume the product of one year 
in ten or twenty years. No ; his work is for the 



I the result of a disregard to the plainest precepts 
j of health in early life. 

I As health is the indispensable prerequisite to 

\ a proper discharge of the duties of life, every { 

i man is under obligation to society not to do any 
thing, which, by producing a diseased condition 
i of the body, renders him unfit to attend efficient- 
5 ly to his work or office. This is the view that 

we are anxious to impress upon the minds of ;! 

r those for whom we write. Although a man, \ 

feeling and thinking altogether from self, may 
imagine that he " is his own man," as some-ex- 
press it, and therefore at liberty to do with him- \ 
self as he pleases, a little reflection must lead > 
£ him to see that this is a great error. No man ;» 
\ stands alone in society, or can be independent of j, 
\ others. Each forms a part of the great social 
'J body, and must faithfully and diligently do what 

he can for the common good. There exists in i 

jj society a community of interests, and each works 
§ for the whole, whether he designs to do so or not. 
i The farmer tills the soil, and draws therefrom his 



v-^-„v»v.v--,-vw.vrf'A 



I 216 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

\ whole, and he receives his proportion from the t 

\ labor of the whole. The manufacturer cannot ? 

j wear the hundreds and thousands of yards that > 

5 are produced by his looms in any year ; they go j> 

t to clothe the whole community. The builder 

|j can occupy but one house ; and yet he builds 

I many. The handiwork of the artisan is nearly 

] all for the comfort, convenience, and luxury of 
others. While thus we see that every man labors 

\ for the good of the whole, we find that every man j| 

l receives back from the labor of the whole all he s 

4 requires for health and comfort. It is the labor of \ 
\ others that produces the clothes that warm and 

I protect him, the food that he eats, the house that 

5 he lives in, and the furniture that makes that house \ 
s convenient and comfortable for himself and fam- > 

< ily. It is rarely, indeed, that his own hands 
j; produce any of the things absolutely essential 
? to life, health, and comfort. 

^ Bearing this in mind, it can easily be seen that 

5 no man has a right to abuse his health, and thus 

\ lessen his ability to do his part in society for the 

\ common good What one man has a natural and J 

\ absolute right to do, that is the inalienable ricrht J 

\ of all ; and if one man has a right to abuse his \ 

\ health, regardless of its effect upon others, every \ 

\ one has a right to do so. But, were all to sacri- 

l fice health to pleasure, all agricultural labors, all \ 

< manufacturing and mechanic arts, would be im- j 



HEALTH. 217 



perfectly done, and the whole community would j 

suffer. Or, if all who tilled the ground were to ? 

destroy their ability to labor steadily by irregu- I 

larities of life, while the manufacturer and the s 

artisan pursued their work with vigorous health, \ 

a great wrong would be done to the latter. They \ 

would give to the farmer clothes, and the various \ 

utensils needed by him in the house or field, £ 

while he would return them but scanty food, and ? 

that, perhaps, poor in quality. What is true of ^ 

the whole is true of the part; and therefore, if $ 

it be wrong for the whole community to lead jj 

irregular lives to the destruction of health and \ 

the ability to perform those uses necessary to the J 

s well-being of the whole human race, it is wrong I 

\ for any individual to do so ; for every failure on \ 

s his part to work to the extent of his ability as & {j 

\ healthy man, is an injury to some other memb^y ) 

\ of the common body. This is an immutakv ;, 

\ law. \ 

> Regarding the subject in this point of vie\»v < 

every young man who reflects at all, and who i* J 

not so thoroughly wedded to self as to be utterl) J 

\ indifferent to the well-being of others, will see ? 

J that he is under a solemn obligation to seek the 5 

i preservation of his health in order that he may be I 

j able to do his part for the common good. Tc \ 

i act from this end is to act wisely and nobly. \ 



218 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

But, as there are few, if any, in this thoroughly I 

selfish age, who can or will thus act, considera- | 

tions of another, though less exalted kind, must J 

be urged upon young men, in order to make them \ 

see the necessity of preserving their health. But > 
before doing so, it may be necessary to repeat 

the declaration with which we set out, — that late I 

hours, irregular habits, and inattention to diet, s 

will certainly undermine the health, and lay the jj 

foundation for diseased conditions in after life. \ 

The effect will be various in different constitu- ? 

tions. One may destroy the healthy tone of his \ 

stomach, and become, for the best half of his life, i 

a miserable dyspeptic ; — thus, for a few years of \ 

inordinate indulgence in the pleasures of the table, «! 

be obliged to pay the penalty of abstinence from \ 

nearly all generous and palatable food, and suffer \ 
from the entire derangement of every healthy 
organ in his system. The inability to perform 

perfectly the work of his office will not only in- J 
jure the community, but himself; for it is a law in 

the social economy, that he who contributes most \ 

to the common stock shall receive most in re- j 

turn. To bodily sufferings of a most distressing !j 

kind will therefore be added the deficiencies of I 

worldly goods, arising from unequal and unsus- s 

tained exertions. Another, inheriting a predis- j 
position to diseases of the chest, may so weaken 



i HEALTH. 219 

I ? 

5 > 

and disturb the vital forces by irregularities and ? 

\ excesses, as to render the lungs highly susceptible 5 

( to all disturbing causes, and find all his hopes j! 

\ and energies blasted just in the prime of life, ) 

? by the development of an incurable pulmonary s 

\ disease; while another may so shatter his nerv- j 

\ ous system as to be unable to bear any business j> 

\ excitement, any prolonged effort, or any exposure \ 

) or fatigue whatever, at a time when all these \ 

< are absolutely necessary to the sustenance of a s 
j family. s 
f i As every one inherits from his parents predis- ) 

positions to diseases of body, as well as to dis- \ 

S eases of the mind, the health of the one, as well \> 

\ as the other, depends upon an obedience to just ? 

\ laws, both physical and moral. Whoever violates b 

these inevitably entails upon himself disabilities \ 

\ and sufferings ; and the earlier in life this is done. < 

s ... ^ 

I? the deeper will be the impression made, and the \ 

more lasting its injurious consequences. 

;, Let every young man, therefore, pay strict re- l 

s gard to his health. Let him be temperate in j? 

< eating and drinking, and regular in all his habits. $ 
5 And let him also see that he does not suffer him- '< 
I self to indulge in any evil passions of the mind, as ., 

anger, malice, jealousy, envy, revenge, or any in- > 

;> ordinate desires ; for these are as fatal to health \ 

\ ^ abuses of the body, and do, in reality , lead to ) 



L 



r 



\ 220 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



these latter abuses almost inevitably. In fact \ 

\ the cause of all the irregularities of youth are in \ 

5 the mind. Let a young man, then, keep his de- > 

s sires, his appetites, and his passions, under proper \ 

\ subjection, and he will be in no danger of running s 

\ into those excesses which sow in his physical sys- \ 

<; tern the seeds of all diseases. ) 

\ While on the subject of health we cannot close i 

l without a few words in reference to the deleterious ? 

s effects of tobacco on the human system. It is 5 

< now pretty well conceded by medical men, that s 

j no one who uses tobacco in any form, can be in 

> the enjoyment of perfect health ) and the testi- < 
i mony of the profession as to its injurious action, \ 

> is of a character to startle and alarm every one ? 
I who has become wedded to the habit of smoking i 
I or chewing. In order to impress the minds of \ 
\ all young men who read these pages with the im- j 
i portance of this subject, we subjoin the testimony \ 
\ of some eminent medical men, and ask their 

\ thoughtful consideration of the facts educed. \ 

The following extract is from a paper on the 

s H Effects of Tobacco on Europeans in India/' by I 

t James Eanald Martin, Esq., in the London Lancet \ 

\ of 28th February, 1857 :— \ 
i " It is matter of constant observation amongst 

] army surgeons, ever since the peace of 1815, that i 

5 the habit of segar-smoking, introduced into this i 






HEALTH. 221 



\ country from Portugal, Spain, and France, by the > 

I officers of the British army, has produced a greater s 

> amount of pale, sallow complexions, amongst young i 
\ officers more especially, than had ever before been I 
|> observed as resulting from any other cause. Had \ 
s the morbid complexion been all, the matter would \ 
\ have been of little importance ; but here it gen- ;> 

< erally means loss of appetite, defective nutrition, s 

> anaemia, and disordered nervous and vascular ;! 
£ functions, all in the same individual. My obser <; 
;> vations lead me altogether to the conclusions of > 
s Van Praag, that the operation of tobacco is at first \ 
i stimulant, and at last depressing, not only in the \ 
\ circulation and respiration, but also on the nervous [> 
s system; accelerated circulation, increase of re- < 
\ spiratory movements, and excessive irritation of \ 
\ the muscular system, being the phenomena first > 
s observed. The concluding symptoms are those '!> 

< of general depression, both of animal and organic ^ 
life, with occasional instances of moral and phy- j! 

\ sical impotency, accompanied by the most mourn- \ 

ful results. I am here speaking of what I have \ 

? witnessed. !; 

\ " The most ordinary results of excessive use \ 

of tobacco are — the most severe forms of irritable \ 

dyspepsia, giddiness, disturbed action of the heart, J 

\ nervous tremors, and cachexia, all amounting oc- [ 

casionally to palsy. Young gentlemen who are in $ 



222 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



the habit of ' putting an enemy into their mouths <j 
to steal away their brains/ do not become aware \ 
of these facts until it sometimes becomes too late. > 
A highly scientific and distinguished captain of '< 
engineers of the Indian army told me — ' All the £ 
young fellows of my term who went out to India, \ 
having bad habits, are dead, excepting two/ ^ 
And what has become of them ? ' They were <; 
cashiered V Here the question of tobacco was not ) 
immediately in contemplation ; but I have no I 
doubt whatever, from the results of my observa- > 
tions in India and at home, that of the habits < 
which led to this sad end, the abuse of tobacco 
was, amongst these young officers, the most bane- > 
fully influential. \ 
" I dispute the alleged benefits of even moderate I 
tobacco smoking as a preventive of damp or of i 
malaria ) and seriously anomalous symptoms I have \ 
seen to arise, in the progress of malarious fevers, 
from the abuse of it — such symptoms as may lead 
to the most grave mistakes in the treatment of J 
fevers, if the medical officer be not careful to in- \ 
quire into the habits of his patient. Of this also \ 
I have seen the most emphatic examples. Those 
who urge the prophylactic benefits of tobacco, 
carry the habit from the swamps of Burmah into 
the arid plains of Hindostan, in defiance of geo- 
graphical differences. \ 

J 



' HEALTH. 223 > 

I < 

\ u I can state of my own observation, that the \ 

miseries, mental and bodily, which I have wit- i 

nessed from the abuse of segar-smoking, and \ 

< chiefly in young men, far exceeded anything de- ? 

I tailed in the ' Confessions of an Opium Eater f 3 

i and I feel assured that the abuse of tobacco, how- s 

j ever employed, may be classified amongst those \ 

\ habits which produce chronic poisoning." s 

\ The following extract is from the article, u Is l 

Smoking Injurious Y 9 in the London Lancet of \ 

\ 31st January, 1857, by Dr. Johnson : — i 

I " What is the testimony of facts ? Why, for ^ 

> one inveterate smoker who will bear testimony \ 

? favorable to the practice, ninety-nine such, of the \ 

candid of these, are found to declare their belief £ 

that this practice is injurious ; and I scarcely ever i 

yet met with one habitual smoker who did not, in \ 

his candid moments, regret his commencement of \ 

the habit. 5 

\ " A few weeks since, I was summoned to attend \ 

a gentleman in the country. On my arrival I \ 

\ found him complaining of headache, nausea, Ian- j 

) guor, loss of appetite and sleep, and inability to ) 

;| rise in the morning ; his expression was anxious, J 

s haggard, and nervous ; his complexion sallow and \ 

\ jaundice looking; his tongue highly furred, and 5 

teeth incrusted with a dirty greenish-yellow de- J 

posit j his breath, which was exceedingly offensive < 

i 

i I 



224 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



; from the odor of tobacco, revealed to my. mind the jj 

> nature of the evil. On my inquiry, he informed j; 
! me that for many years he had indulged rather ) 
J freely in the use of tobacco, declaring, at the same } 
J time, that ever since his apprenticeship to smo- ;> 
5 king, the pernicious habit had gradually and insid- J 
? iously crept upon him, till at length it became s 
[; confirmed. I persuaded him to desist from its in- 

'■> dulgence, and succeeded ; but he found the task J 

> a terrible one, so enslaving is the habit. After a $ 
§ short time, however, he succeeded in conquering $ 
£ the appetite. Many of the symptoms have l 
\ entirely disappeared, and he is now considerably \ 
\ improved. Is not this case, in the experience £ 

of most medical men, the type of thousands 

i more ? l> 
I " It is a certain fact, that devoted smokers are 

\ liable to both constitutional and local disorders of £ 

> very serious characters. Among the former, we f 
i notice giddiness, sickness, vomiting, dyspepsia, 

) diarrhoea, angina pectoris, diseases of the liver, 

;> pancreas, and heart ; nervousness, amaurosis, i 

s paralysis, apoplexy, atrophy, deafness, and ma- 

< nia. Amongst the latter, ulceration of the s 

\ lips, ulceration of gums, cheeks, mucous membrane 

\ of the mouth, tonsils, throat, etc. 

\ " Most of these results I have selected from 

] authors of some locus standi — amongst whom I < 






f 

I HEALTH. 225 

may mention Drs. Prout, Bright, Laycock, Rad- J 

cliffe, and Ranking, Pereira, Orfila, Trousseau, $ 

Johnstone, Sir B. Brodie, and Professor Lizars. < 

J Dr. Taylor, in his valuable work on poisons says : I 

— ' That a poisonous substance like tobacco, whe- i 

\ ther in powder, juice, or vapor, cannot be brought ) 

\ in contact with an absorbing surface like mucous { 

J membrane, without in many cases producing dis- \ 

\ order of the system, which the consumer probably \ 

is quite ready to attribute to any other cause than 
\ that which would render it necessary for him to de- 

Y prive himself of what he considers not merely as 

I a luxury, but an article actually necessary to his 

J existence/ " 

£ " Sir B. Brodie states in his Physiological Re- 

( searches, published in 1851, under Effects of Ve- 

getable Poisons : i We may conclude from these 
\ experiments, that the empyreumatic oil of tobacco 

occasions death, by destroying the functions of the 
brain, without directly acting on the circulation. 
I In other words, its effects are similar to those of 

i alcohol, the juice of aconite, and the essential oil 

j; of almonds." 

The injurious properties of tobacco are deter- 

;> mined by the following analysis of its chemical 

constituents by Professor Johnston, of Durham, 

in his Chemistry of Common Life : " These are 

three in number : a volatile oil, a volatile alkali, 

15 



226 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. j 

\ . \ 

^ and an empyreutnatic oil The vola- \ 

tile oil has the odor of tobacco, and possesses a J 

> bitter taste. On the mouth and throat it produces \ 

a sensation similar to that caused by tobacco ^ 

I 1 smoke. When applied to the nose, it occasions > 

sneezing, and when taken internally, it gives rise \ 

\ to giddiness, nausea, and an inclination to vomit. \ 

The volatile alkali has the odor of tobacco, an < 

acrid, burning, long-continuing tobacco taste, and \ 

possesses narcotic and very poisonous qualities. \ 

In this latter respect, it is scarcely inferior to prus- 

i sic acid — a single drop being sufficient to kill a J 

j dog. Its vapor is so irritating, that it is difficult ;> 

to breathe in a room in which a single drop has 
j been evaporated. The reader may recollect the !; 
\ great sensation produced in 1851, by the trial of \ 
\ the Comte de Bocarme\ at Mons, and his subse- 
j quent execution, for poisoning his brother-in-law 
\ ■ with nicotin. A hundred pounds of the dry to- 
bacco-leaf yield about seven pounds of nicotin. < 
In smoking a hundred grains of tobacco ; there- 
\ fore, say a quarter of an ounce, there may be 

drawn into the mouth two grains or more of one of I 

I the most subtle of all known poisons. The empy- \ 

\ reumatic oil is acrid and disagreeable to the taste, J 

\ narcotic, and poisonous. One drop applied to the ) 

\ tongue of a cat brought on convulsions, and in 

two minutes occasioned death. The Hottentots ? 



HEALTH. 227 2 

are said to kill snakes by putting a drop of it on 

their tongues. Under its influence the reptiles \ 

die as instantaneously as if killed by an electric < 

shock. It appears to act nearly in the same way > 

as prussic acid. J 

" The segar, especially if smoked to the end, } 

discharges directly into the mouth of the smoker \ 

everything that is produced by the burning. s 

Thus, the more rapidly the leaf burns and the jj 

smoke is inhaled, the greater the proportion of the < 

poisonous substances which is drawn into the i 

mouth. And finally, when the saliva is retained, > 

the fullest effect of all the three narcotic ingre- > 
dients of the smoke will be produced upon the 

nervous system of the smoker. It is not surpri- 1 

sing, therefore, that those who have been accus- i 

tomed to smoke segars, especially of strong \ 

tobacco, should find any other pipe both tame and l ^ 

tasteless, except the short black cutty, which has \ 

lately come into favor among inveterate smokers. \ 

Such persons live in an almost constant state of \ 

narcotism or narcotic drunkenness, which must \ 

ultimately affect the health even of the strongest. i 

" The chewer of tobacco, it will be understood i 

from the above description, does not experience i 

the effects of the poisonous oil which is produced j 

during the burning of the leaf. The natural vol- \ 

atile oil and the nicotin are the substances which < 



s 



228 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

act upon him. These, from the quantity of them, 
which he involuntarily swallows or absorbs, im- 
pair his appetite, and gradually weaken his powers 
of digestion. " 

The subjoined extract is taken from a commu- 
nication on the tobacco question, by Mr. Solly, 
in the London Lancet of February 14th, 1857 : 

" The more I think of the tobacco question, the 



\ more it haunts me. I feel that I cannot do justice 5 

> to its importance, but I am anxious to add some- \ 

\ thing to my last communication. Every day the \ 

\ subject is forced upon my mind. I scarcely meet \ 

\ a friend or patient who does not bear his testimony i 

5 to the mischief of which he has been the witness, l 

s j 

; in his own case or that of some friend, from to- 

> bacco. I 
I " The profession have no idea of the ignorance s 
s of the public regarding the nature of tobacco. § 
< Even intelligent, well-educated men, stare in as- 

i tonishment, when you tell them that tobacco is \ 

\ one of the most powerful poisons we possess. \ 

i Now, is this right ? Has the medical profession < 

s s done its duty ? Ought we not, as a body, to have J 

\ told the public that, of all our poisons, it is the \ 

\ most insidious, uncertain, and, in full doses, the ? 

most deadly ? Why should they not know at once [> 

i how often it has proved fatal in the human sub- s 

I ject, when injected into the rectum in strangu- > 



HEALTH. 229 t 

< lated hernia. I heard, only the other day, that a \ 

\ celebrated surgeon — rather an obstinate one — since li 

I dead, lost five cases in succession from the effect j> 

? of tobacco injected into the bowels. < 

" It seems almost trifling with the subject, and \ 

\ yet the extreme ignorance which prevails regard- s 

\ ing this frightful pest, rendering even trifles \ 

\ weighty in the scale, induces me to remind all \ 

\ smokers, and those of our brethren who madly \ 

\ encourage it, that the first effect of a segar on any s 

\ one, demonstrates that tobacco can poison by its i 

s smoke, and through the lungs, just as certainly as \ 

£ through the bowels." i 

To this startling testimony on the subject of to- \ 

> bacco-poisoning, we shall add nothing; but we beg £ 

\ our readers not to let it pass lightly from their $ 

!> thoughts. There are more terrible effects than jj 

|» any above enumerated, involving the loss of life. \ 

\ No one who indulges in the use of tobacco in any \ 

s form can tell how soon he may fall a victim. \ 

<j There is a little treatise on the " Use and Abuse I 

\ of Tobacco/' by Dr. John Lizars, of Edinburgh, J 



which is earnestly commended to your attention. J 

Above we have made a few extracts from this $ 

treatise, but they only touch the subject at single I 

points. Its careful perusal, and a thoughtful con- ? 

sideration of the many aspects in which the use \ 



230 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

of tobacco is presented, will give the matter an 

importance in your mind to which it has probably \ 

never been elevated. If, through motives for a 

temporary self-denial furnished by this book, you \ 

can get free from an injurious habit, its possession \ 

will be one of the greatest blessings of your j> 

life. \ 

s 

1 



\ CHAPTER XXL 

ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 

? . . i 

J Entering into business is, except marriage, \ 

) the most important act of a young man's life. \ 

< And, as the proportion of those who are unsuc- £ 

< cessful in their first efforts is as two to three, it < 
\ behooves every one to look well to what he is \ 
/ doing before taking a step that may involve him \ 
] in serious losses or difficulties. The result of \ 
I our own observation is, that a young man who 

J enters into business under the age of twenty-five, \ 

s unless he be taken into partnership in an estab- \ 

lished firm, is almost sure to fail. If he have i 

money, he will lose it ) and if credit be his only \ 

capital, he will get involved in debt. There are, \ 



ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 231 

of course, some exceptions to this, but they are 
rery few. 

One necessary prerequisite to success in busi- 
ness is a thorough knowledge of that branch into 
which a man enters. It is, therefore, always a 
hazardous step for any one to commence a busi- 
ness of the details of which he is ignorant, no 
matter how flattering may be the inducements 
held out. This is a prominent cause of failure. 
Another cause is the young man's impatience to 
get along fast, and realize great profits in a very 
short period. But this is not the history of suc- 
cessful houses, nor of men who have acquired 
great wealth. Safe and sure beginnings are 
always small, and the growth gradual. Sudden 
inflations meet with as sudden collapses. A 
young man who has been a clerk in a respecta- 
ble house, that has been growing gradually for 
years, determines upon going into business. But 
he is not content with a small beginning. He 
must have as handsome a store and as fine a stock 
of goods as his old, substantial employers, and 
strains his credit to the utmost to gratify his 
pride and false notions in regard to the true 
means necessary to success in trade. Without 
sufficient capital to bear the heavy losses that 
too often attend a heavy business, and the large 
accumulation of unsalable goods, a few yeart 



232 ADVICE TC YOUNG MEN. 



^ stances where young men have launched boldly 

? out, and made from twenty to a hundred thousand 

dollars in a few years; and will actually point 
out this, that, and the other one, as the veritable 
personages. Now, it is one thing for a man in 
business to say that he has made fifty thousand 
dollars, for instance, and another thing really to 
have made it. We have seen the end of a good 
many who had made fortunes in a wonderfully 
short space of time, and the winding up generally 
showed them to be worse than nothing. The 



! tell the story of his rise and fall. This is the > ? 

$ history of hundreds in our large cities. Every '? 

year sees the passing away of some scores of \ 

^ houses established in this way, and yet the lesson ;> 

\ seems to do no good ; for every year scores of s 

others are ready to take the places of their un- \ 
fortunate predecessors, without any more of the { 

elements of success about them. <; 

Many young men are tempted into business, 
and induced to make a bold start, upon the 
always uncertain basis of credit, from hearing 
so much said about this one and another who 
has commenced life without a dollar, and in a 
few years retired with an independent fortune. 
There is a great deal of this kind of gossip 
among clerks and those who have just entered 
into business. They can name hundreds of in- 



.-w-V-_-.'-w---V->-_-^---».-. 



ENTERING INTO BUS/NESS. 233 < 

reason why the notion is so generally prevalent 2 

' that a fortune may be made in this country in a ? 

J very few years, if a man have sufficient boldness, 5 

activity, and enterprise, is because, in periods of J 

inflation which have occurred, every thing ob- \ 

tains a fictitious value. The time has been \ 

} when a piece of property, purchased to-day for 

I five thousand dollars, has sold for fifty or one \ 

J hundred thousand before the lapse of twelve t 

< months ; or stocks which cost ten thousand dol- \ 
\ lars last week have netted twenty or thirty thou- i 
J> sand this week. In times like those, when the > 
;> volume of paper money was immense, goods < 
s could be sold freely and at large profits. This $ 

< would make the gains of business very great in a \ 
£ few years. Far more than all the profits, how- \ 
!j ever, were usually trusted out to persons who \ 
J bought freely because they could buy on credit. i 
> From engaging in speculations when there was § 
j an upward tendency in every thing, and from J 

making a few fortunate operations, combined with i 

\ an active trade, when every thing was brisk, i 

J young men, who have had only a few thousands ;> 

J to begin with, have, in a very short period, be- j> 

f come quite wealthy. But it was generally the ) 

J case that this wealth consisted in property said to ^ 

^ be worth so much, and which might, at the time, < 

s sell for its valuation to somebody, who would give J 



234: ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. S 

s his note for it at six, nine, twelve, or twenty-four \ 

months. There are a few instances where per- i; 

sons thus successful have had the prudence to \ 

convert their property into something more sub- ' 
stantial than notes of hand drawn by Tom, Dick, s 

and Harry, or town lots from which the first '? 

s spadeful of earth had not yet been lifted. But in \ 

most cases, when the storms came which always \ 

\ follow such periods of sunshine, these men were 

among the first to be driven under. The story \ 

\ of their rapidly-acquired fortunes is still told , £ 

but the real cause of their speedy elevation is \ 
\ not understood, nor is the sequel known or al- 

ii luded to. \ 

t A prudent young man will hardly suffer him- \ 

self to be deceived by stories of this kind, and 
\ tempted into business in the hope of making a J 

;> fortune by a bold dash : if he should be, he I 

will be almost certain to lose what money he may 
s happen to have, and get involved in debt beside ; ) 

s for with the views of business he will hold, such 

j a thing as a small beginning and cautious opera- 

\ tions will be out of the question. As before said, 

'< the elements of success in business are to be ,• 

found in a thorough knowledge of the particular 
) branch in which a young man is about to engage, \ 

and in a maturity of judgment acquired by a few 
I years ef experience and observation in the world 

L_ i 



J ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 235 \ 

as a man. With this there must exist a willing- \ 

ness to be content for a time with small things \ 

— to be willing to wait for the seed sown to ger- J 

> minate, the tender blade to shoot forth, and <j 

> the stock gradually to increase, and grow, and ;> 
i gain strength to mature and support the grain. )> 
\, It is far better to advance slowly, and wait even \ 
i as long as ten years before the gains of labor > 
\ begin to be of much importance, than to rush J 

> ahead for a time, and, long before ten years have \ 
\ rolled around, be thrown to the earth, and em- £ 

barrassed by debts, to pay which the ability may ) 

< never come. \, 
<] As the true way to begin is to begin with \ 
s moderate expectations and a small business, the i 
? first rule to adopt is, the determination to make \ 

the personal expenses as light as possible. The > 

^ error which most young men commit is, to in- J 

< crease their personal expenses as soon as they $ 
I enter into business. The spending of one thou- £ 
J sand dollars a year, instead of five hundred, takes J 
t just five hundred out of the business, and sinks it l> 
I absolutely. The saving of five hundred dollars > 
\ each year for three or four years, and keeping \ 
I the amount in the business, will, of itself, be an ) 
I important matter, and may actually save the busi- I 

ness in &n extremity, or unexpected loss, when, J 
if it had been spent, destruction would b« 



236 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



inevitable. Care in regard to the expenses at- ? 

tendant upon the prosecution of business is also J 

an important matter. In rents, personal expenses, b 

clerk hire, and petty expenditures of various \ 

kinds, more than the entire profits of a new busi- s 

ness may be consumed. If there is any borrowed £ 

capital, and interest to pay thereon, necessity for \ 

the strictest economy will be even more impera- \ 

tive. \ 

But entering into business is one thing, \ 

and conducting it on right principles another. s 

Enough has already been said in this work to ^ 

make any one see and feel the force of the posi- { 

tion, that the common good ought to be regarded j; 

by every man, and that whoever seeks to secure i 

the common good most effectually secures his i 
own. This does not mean that a man should 

throw all his earnings into the treasury of the \ 

commonwealth, or do any act of a similar kind ; \ 

or that he should neglect his own interest in ? 

seeking to forward the interests of others. The 1 



t arrangement of society, under the direction of an 

\ all-wise Providence, provides for every man's well- 

being in the pursuit of some employment that 

s 1 benefits the whole ; and the conducting of these 

employments on right principles is nothing more 

^ than each man attending diligently to his own 

business in life, but without in any way interfer- 



j 



ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 



237 



ing with his neighbor's business, or taking the 
slightest advantage of him in any mutual trans- 
actions. If such were the acknowledged laws of 
trade, the well-being of all would be secured. 
$ He who most served the public good in the 

jj greater extent of his useful products, would re- 

s ceive the greatest return ; and he who was less 

? active and diligent, a smaller return. 

Such, however, are not the laws that govern 
trade in these evil and degenerate days. Most 
I men seek so eagerly to increase their worldly 

< gains, as to disregard entirely the interests of 

i others ; nay, not only to disregard them, but 

> actually to invade them with deliberate purpose. 

j Thus we have cheating of all grades, from the 
speculator's overreaching operations down to the 
selling of goods by spurious weights and meas- 
ures, or obtaining them under false pretences. 

But let every young man who is about enter- 
ing into business, no matter what it n *ay be, or 
who commences the practice of a proi >ssion for 
which he has duly qualified himself, resolve, ere 
he takes the first step, that he, for one, will be an 
honest man in the community ; that he will 
diligently seek to advance himself in his business 
or profession by all right means; but that he will 
in no case take even the smallest advantage of 
his neighbor. He need not be anxious about the 




1 ! 

238 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. ? 

] < 

< final result; all he has to do is to use diligence. ;> 
wisdom, and prudence, and these will carry him ;! 

\ through, even amid the wrongs and disorders of < 

• society as it now exists. He may not grow rich 

\ as rapidly as his neighbor, who can manage by > 

s cheating to make a larger profit on his goods, > 

s and by false pretences to gain a greater amount > 

J of custom ; but his advancement will be rapid 5 

\ enough to give him all that is needful for health, \ 

? comfort, and a good conscience. ? 

? It is seriously argued, by many who are en- <j 

I gaged in business, that deception and false rep- 

\ resentation are absolutely necessary to success; \ 

< that it is impossible for a strictly-honest man to \ 
s' succeed in business. But this is not true. We j 
\ believe; however, that, in a business community \ 
\ where nearly all take undue advantages in trade, < 
£ an honest man will find it difficult to sustain 

> himself, unless he be wary, active, and energetic ; 5 
s for he will lose by the dishonesty of others, with- 

J out being able to repair the loss by dishonest s 

>; practices in turn. But what right-thinking man j 

!; would not rather suffer the loss of worldly goods \ 

than the loss of honor ? Who would not be con- 

|» tent with a smaller portion of wealth, accom- } 

5 panied by a consciousness of having done what 5 

I was just and right between man and man, than J 

to be the possessor of millions obtained by over- i 

<? I 

> > 



■y*\J , WWW«u-.»r 



ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 239 

reaching and a system of successful fraud not 
recognizable by the laws? Any undue advan- 
tage in business is stealing; for it is taking 
another's goods without his consent or cogni- 
zance. 

There are various modes of overreaching in 
business, against which every honest young man 
will set his face. Nearly all speculations are 
dishonest means, by which one man gains a cer- 
tain amount of money in a transaction that 
another loses. A merchant gains intelligence, by 
the superior facilities which he happens to pos- 
sess, of a rise in the price of some article in a 
neighboring market. He goes to his neighbor, 
who is yet ignorant of this rise, and buys from 
him all of that article he has in store at the 
prevailing prices of the day, and thus secures 
both his own and his neighbor's profits. This is a 
very common transaction, but, judged by the rule 
we have laid down, a very dishonest one. Again, 
a merchant buys up all of an article there is in 
the market, at a time when he knows there will 
be a scarcity, and doubles the price. This is not 
honest; for he is enriching himself by extorting 
from others an exorbitant rate for a necessary 
article. All stock speculations are conducted on 
the broadest principles of loss and gain — like 
gambling. We doubt very much if any man 



i 240 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. t 

\ . \ 

< who engages actively in them can be governed J 
j by an honest regard for the interests of his fellow- \ 
\ man. It seems to be nothing but an eager \ 
? scramble for money, no matter to whom it prop- j 

> erly belongs. 

5 These are bold and palpable modes of over- \ 

\ reaching in business, and men enter into them ] 

> unblushingly. The concealed and underhand I 
\ methods are far more numerous. They ap- ) 
\ pertain to every trade and calling, and are \ 

> practised under the most perfectly assumed ex- \ 
i teriors of fairness and honesty. These are short ) 
\ weights and measures, false representations as to ) 

< quality, exorbitant prices where the buyer is ig- \ 
5 norant, and various other frauds upon purchasers. 

i 1 The mechanic slights his work in places where \ 

\ it cannot be readily seen, and thus is enabled to { 

\ sell cheaper than his neighbor who makes a good \ 

^ article. And throughout all trades and profes- \ 

< sions there prevails a system of fraud upon the S 
public which is becoming apparent in the gradual b 

i deterioration of almost every article of general 



consumption, while the makers stun the public 
ear with declarations of the superior quality of ev- 
ery thing they produce. Thus the effort of each 
calling to secure its own interests, at the expense 
of the whole, has been the effort of all ; and the 
consequence is, that all are worse off for it. But 



-w A. -\- -_-»■---%- 



ENTERING INTO BUSINESS. 241 



i; this result is no matter of surprise. It is the \ 

£ legitimate effect of an adequate cause. J 

The only remedy for this is for each man, 

acting from a principle of integrity, to strive > 

honestly to perform all that appertains to his call- ^ 

ing If he is a mechanic, let him not look 5 

altogether to the money he is to receive for his s 

work, but consider as well him for whom the \ 

work is intended, and be careful that it be of a - <; 

good quality, and worth the price he receives for \ 

it. If he be a merchant, let him buy with judg- \ 

ment, and sell with a just regard to the rights of J 

others. And let all men, no matter what may be \ 

> their calling, faithfully regard the good of others \ 

\ as well as their own. To do this, is simply to \ 

\ refrain from injuring others in any transactions \ 

s had with them. \ 

If every young man, now entering upon life, \ 

were to act from the principles here laid down, \ 

how different, in a few years, would be the aspect \ 

of affairs in the business world ! Trade would be \ 

\ in a far more healthy condition, and every man in \ 

business would feel himself more firmly estab- I 

( ] lished. And the reason is obvious. There would > 

be no overreaching ; no disturbance of the regu- ) 

lar course of trade by eager, selfish speculators; \ 

l no interference with one man's business by \ 

? another, as is now often the case, by which it J 

{ 16 i 



242 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

\ . \ 

not unfrequently happens that his prospects for 
life are ruined. Instead of sudden and great 
5 accumulations of money in a few hands, for the 

i purpose of affecting the market for selfish ends, 

| to the injury, perhaps, of hundreds, there would <; 

j be, in time, a greater equalization of capital, and $ 

the simple and true law of demand and supply, as 
} a regularly-existing state, subject to but few, and 5 

they not sudden and broad fluctuations, would < 

s be the balance-wheel to trade. This would be a j 

) blessing to all. \ 

Most earnestly do we urge upon young men, 
just entering or about to enter into business, to 
look this matter fully in the face, and endeavor to 
feel it as a subject vital to the true well-being of 
society. Whenever a reform begins, it must begin 
with them. To them society looks as its regen- 
'i erators. Let every young man endeavor to feel 

the responsibility that rests upon him as an in- !> 
dividual, and act well and wisely his part, when ;' 

he finds himself standing in the world's arena, 

s 

\ 

I 

\ 

s 
s 

) 

\ 
i 



MARRIAGE. 



243 



! ! 



CHAPTER XXII. 



MARRIAGE. 



On this subject very few think seriously, and 5 

I those who make it a matter of much reflection t 



i too generally think erroneously. We allude, of ? 

r course, to young persons. Those of more ma- ? 

ture age have clearer views ; but too often these I 

\ are consequent upon either seeing or feeling the s 

evils that result from marriages entered into from \ 

blind passions or improper motives. The great < 

<5 difficulty, with regard to those who most need § 

proper instruction on this subject, is, that they ? 

will not hearken to what is said to them, but 

either follow the leadings of impulse and passion, j 

or look with cool deliberation to the attainment \ 

s 

of some selfish end. In either case, mutual un- 5 

happiness is the almost inevitable result. \ 

Marriage is the most important event in a 



j, marriage is uie inusi mipuriaiu event 111 a 

j man's life, because it brings him into the very 5 



> closest relationship with another, and therefore > 

|j subjects him to the disturbance of every incon- 4 

gruous or opposite thing in the character of his < 

I new companion. This is one reason, but there { 



244 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

are others which are more vital and important, 
and which can only be understood when there is 
some knowledge of the true laws which ought to 
govern in marriage. These laws have their ori- 
gin in the distinctive difference which exists, and 
has existed from creation, between man and wo- 
man. This difference does not lie in the mere 
form of body peculiar to each. It is far more 
deeply grounded. The difference is in the 
mental and spiritual form ; it is, therefore, of a 
most radical kind. To make the whole subject 
of this difference clearly comprehended would 
require a treatise of greater extent than our en- 
tire work ; and we shall not, therefore, risk mis- 
apprehension by the mere enunciation of the con- 
clusions to which such a treatise would bring 
every reflecting mind. The main thing to be 
understood, however, is, that man and woman are 
so created as to be imperfect except in marriage 
union, and therefore that marriage is an orderly 
state. In man we find a peculiar development of 
brain,— the organ by which the mind acts, — that 
marks his difference from the woman ; and in wo- 
man there is a peculiar development that marks 
her difference from the man ; and yet both pos- 
sess the same formations. In man, the intellec- 
tual region shows a larger development, and in 
woman, that region of the brain by which the 



? 



1 

MARRIAGE 245 J 



\ affections of the mind come into activ.'ty ; yet 

\ both have intelligence and affection. But the 

\ one is a thinking man, and the other a loving 

h man; and, in union, they make one perfect man. 

< The affections of a man are, as a general thing, 
\ guided by his reason ; and the reason of a woman, 

as a general thing, is guided by her affections. 
t Of course, there are exceptions, as in masculine 
\ women, so called, and effeminate men ; but these 
\ are looked upon as social monsters; and it is 
\ very well known that they do little to advance 
\> society towards a state of true order, although 
f the first class sometimes make a great noise in 
the world, and do their full share of harm. But 
only when they unite their mental forces in a 

< just marriage, — that is, when, in the conjugal 
s s union, the intelligence of the man and the affec- 
> tion of the woman are also married, and look to 

one end, — is there a perfect man in the world. 
] If this does not take place, — and, alas ! its occur- 
5 rence is a rare thing in these times, — there will 

\ be more or less discord and unhappiness between 

§ married partners. 

\ To illustrate this so as to bring it home with 

\ some kind of force to even minds not given to 

I close and abstract reflection, we will suppose that 

;, a woman, who possesses a fortune, is addressed by 

a man whom she believes to be high-minded, in- 

t 



? 



246 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. \ 

i \ 

I telligent, and truly moral. These are what she, s 

as a right-minded woman, can love in a man. <; 

) After marriage, however, she makes the dis- i 

] covery that it was not for her virtues that she was 

5 loved and wooed by this man, but for her wealth, 

\ and that, so far from being high-minded and < 

i honorable, he is base-minded and dishonorable. < 

Could there possibly be any union of souls be- 
J tween these two persons? Could his intelligence 

$ and her affections ever blend and become as one ? 

jj mind? No. So long as life lasted they must be 

I in discord. I 

And the same will be the case if beauty alone, 

or the desire to form- a respectable or distin- < 
? guished connection, or any other worldly or selfish 

motive, be the leading end in a man's mind when < 

$ he seeks to gain the affections of a woman. No 

J woman believes herself loved for any external J 

grace, accomplishment, or possession, by the man 
\ whom she loves in return, but for herself alone. \ 

If, after marriage, she discover that she has been 
\ mistaken, from that moment her confidence in \ 

\ her husband is destroyed ; and the date of her \ 

\ unhappiness, as well as his own, has commenced. 

) He will find that, notwithstanding she may be j 

< faithful to all her duties as a wife, no union I 

5 of mind takes place, nor can take place ; that j 

«he will not, and cannot, love his intelligence, nor J 



MARRIAGE. 247 



give him any counsel or strength in the perform- 
j ance of his duties in life. In most things, she will 
) be inclined to differ with rather than agree with 
> him, if matters are referred to her ; but, usually, 
she will be altogether passive in things of general 
< -concern, contenting herself with her domestic 
\ duties alone. As a consequence, he will grow 
\ more and more self-willed ; for he must trust to 
his own reason for every thing, unwarmed by the 
glow of her affections ; and her mind will con- 
tract itself more and more within its own little 
sphere, because not drawn out and expanded by 
sympathy with his more widely-reaching intelli- 
gence, and both will be unhappy. 

If a young man would escape these sad conse- 
quences, let him shun the rocks upon which so 
many have made shipwreck. Let him disregard, 
totally, all considerations of wealth, beauty, ex- 
ternal accomplishments, fashion, connections in 
society, and every other mere selfish and worldly 
end, and look into the mind and heart of the woman 
he thinks of marrying. If he cannot love her for 
herself alone, — that is, for all that goes to make 
up her character as a woman, — let him disregard 
every external inducement, and shun a marriage 
> with her as the greatest evil to which he could 

be subjected. And if he have in him a spark of 
virtuous feeling, — if he have one unselfish and 



248 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 4 

generous emotion, — he will shun such a ma* \ 

riage for the woman's sake also ; for it would be ) 

sacrificing her happiness as well as his own. \ 

From what is here set forth, every young man \ 

can see how vitally important it is for him to \ 

make his choice in marriage from a right end. \ 

Wealth cannot bring happiness, and is ever in \ 

danger of taking to itself wings ; beauty cannot \ 

last long where there is grief at the heart ; and j> 

distinguished connections are a very poor substi- \ 

tute for the pure love of a true woman's heart. < 

All that has been said refers to the ends which «j 

should govern in the choice of a wife. Direc- \ 

tions as to the choice itself can only be of a ? 

general character ; for the circumstances sur- \ 

rounding each one, and the particular circles into \ 

which he is thrown, will have specific influences, \ 

which will bias the judgment either one way or \ 

another. One good rule, it will, however, be well \ 

to observe; and that is, to be on your guard \ 

against those young ladies who seek evidently \ 

to attract your attention. It is unfeminine, and \ 

proves that there is something wanting to make j 

up the perfect woman. In retiring modesty you \ 

will be far more apt to rind the virtues after \ 

which you are seeking. A brilliant belle may ) 

make a loving, faithful wife and mother ; but the ? 

chances are somewhat against her, and a prudent \ 



.-^-^--^.-----v 



j 

\ 

? MARRIAGE. 249 



young man will satisfy himself well by a close <j 

l observation of her in private and domestic life, I 

before he makes up his mind to offer her his hand. I 

'<] But the most we can do, and what we mainly I 

wish to do, in giving precepts for the choice of a \ 

wife, has already been done ; and that is, to im- \ 

[> press upon young men the necessity of acting \ 

from right ends. If these be pure, there will be \ 

■> little danger of a mistake. If they be not pure, ? 

\ all particular directions how to choose a wife \ 

\ will be in vain. \> 

> ... ..... ? 

Marriage itself is a religious rite, instituted j> 

, s by Heaven, and, as such, should always be solem- \ 

\ nized by a minister or priest, and not, as a civil \ 

^ rite, by a magistrate. It is the first law of hu- ^ 

\ man existence, and has its date anterior to any \ 

s civil institutions whatever. i> 

s ? 

J To some extent there prevails a disposition to ;' 

regard marriage as an evil, by those who do not s 

understand its true nature, and who look at the '< 

} unhappy results that too often flow from it as ? 

effects of the institution itself, instead of the ) 

\ abuses. Others, again, speak lightly of the mat- ? 

ter, and compare marriage to a lottery, with few ? ? 

( prizes and many blanks, and say that the gaining J 

) of a prize is always a matter of chance. But the \ 

I evils and chances all lie in the perverse and self- < 

J ish ends that govern men in their choice of \ 

I . \ 

i s 



> 

/ 
i 

I 

\ 250 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

s 

wives. Let these be corrected, and the whole 

matter will present a different and brighter 
\ aspect. 

\ To the question often asked of young men as 

\ to why they do not marry, we sometimes hear the 

{> reply, "I am not able to support a wife." In 

one case in three, perhaps, this may be so; but 
\ as a general thing, the true reply would be, " I 

> am not able to support the style in which I think 

£ my wife ought to live." In this, again, we see a 

false view of marriage ; a looking to an appear- 
i ance in the world, instead of a union with a lov- 

5 ing woman for her own sake. There are very 

) few men, of industrious habits, who cannot main- 

J tain a wife, if they are willing to live economically, 

s and without reference to the false opinions of the 

\ world. The great evil is, that young couples 

\ are not content to begin life humbly, to retire 

\ together into an obscure position, and together 

\ work their way in the world — he by industry in 

) his calling, and she by dispensing with prudence 

s the money that he earns. But they must stand 

\ out and attract the attention of others by their 

fine house, fine furniture, and fine clothes, even 
) if debt be incurred, in order to maintain this silly 

J show. As a general thing, we find these men, 

j who do not think themselves able to support a 

wife, always affected with the same disability 



MARRIAGE. 



251 



Although an advocate for early marriages, yet \ 

< we are no advocate for the dashing out which so ; 

< often attends them. Even a married couple may s 
save money on a small income, and yet live com- \ 
fortably enough if their pride be not too active ; jj 
and the economical habits thus cultivated will 5 
lay the foundation for success which would have j> 

£ been sought for in vain, had the young man spent 5 

all, or nearly all, he earned for four or five years, s 

\ waiting until he got able to marry. In regard to \ 

an increase of family, our observation satisfies us, j; 

{ if we looked no further, that increased means j 

will always be the consequences. He who sends i 

S children will help you to take care of them, if ^ 

< you put yourself in the way of being helped. ^ 
I A married man, if he have right views, will s 
j; always proceed with more caution than a single ) 

roan, because more depends upon him; and this is < 
> a good reason why he is more certain to advance 
i in the world steadily, if it be slowly. 

In regard to early marriages, this may be safely ^ 

,s said. If an engagement have been formed, and I 

both parties are willing to live strictly within the J 

s limits of the young man's income, and if he, or \ 

\ they between them, have sufficient money to meet J 

all the expenses consequent upon marriage, and, > 

< moreover, if there be a prospect of the continu s 



252 ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 

ance of his income, let them marry, say we. I 
will be better for them. 

As the natural result of marriage is offspring, 
and as children inherit from their parents pro- 
pensities to either good or evil, the same as they 
inherit physically a tendency to disease or health, 
the subject assumes a still more serious aspect 
than any we have ye*, given it, and exhibits the 
responsibilities and duties of married partners in 
a still stronger light. Parents love their children, 
and seek their good in various ways. They deny 
themselves manv comforts, thev toil earlv and 



late, and will sometimes risk even life itself for 
their children. The evil tendencies which show 
themselves almost as soon as the mind moves in 
its first activities, cause them deep grief; for 
they know that such tendencies, if indulged, will 
produce unhappiness, and they strive anxiously to 
repress them, but find the task a difficult and al- 
most impossible one. The error of the parents 
lies in the fact, that they have commenced the 
work of reform too late. " Too late," we hear 
asked, w when it is commenced as soon as the 
infant mind moves in its first activities ? " Yes, 
it is too late; and all that can now be done, will 
be to repress the evils as they show themselves, 
and strive, at the same time, to implant opposite 
good principles, by means of which, when these 



CARRIAGE. 253 



\ children become men and women, they may con- < 

I tend with, and, if they will, overcome, the evils <j 

i which they had derived from their parents. > 

? This subject, of the hereditary transmission of J 

? good or evil qualities of mind, is one to which ? 

I but Rttle attention has been paid ; and yet it is a ;> 

5 matter of great moment. Whatever a man does s 

< from principle and a confirmed habit, be it good s 

I or evil, orderly or disorderly, that he transmits to I 

> his children in a tendency to do the same thing. \ 
A man who does not think it wrong to overreach !> 

J his neighbor in bargaining, must not be surprised J> 

s' if he discover in his son a tendency to steal, 5 

I which he tries in vain to correct ; nor he who s 

s has no regard for truth, wonder why his son <; 

>; should prove a liar. If the father and mother !; 

are disorderly in their habits, or passionate, or > 

i envious of their neighbors, how is it possible for $ 

\ their children to be otherwise, when the natural i 

) and invariable law that " like produces like " is \ 

\ considered ? \ 

\ Why we said the work of reform was com- \ 

\ menced too late by parents, may now be clearly \ 

\ seen. We must fight the evils and disorders by \ 

> which the human race is cursed, in our own 

\ hearts, if we would truly overcome them in our 5 

'', children. If this be not done, the task of cor- ( 

recting their evils will be a painful and difficult, <> 



254 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



if not an almost impossible, one. If we shun the 
evil of overreaching our neighbor, because it is 
evil ; if falsehood be avoided, and held in abhor- 
rence; if we resist evil tendencies of every kind, 
— we will do more for our children than if we 
were to amass for them wealth equal to that of 
Crcesus. 

True love of offspring will prompt to the sac- 
rifice of evil love of all kinds, and the strength- 
ening of good principles as rules of action in the 
mind of every parent. 

To a young man who thinks seriously of mar- 
riage, this subject ought to be one of grave con- 
sideration. If he would not entail a curse upon 
his children, let him examine himself well, and 
begin at once the correction of every evil habit 
and propensity. If he do not do so, the time may 
come, when, like David of old, he will exclaim, 



" O Absalom ! my son ! my 
I had died in thy stead ! " 



son ! Would God 



CONCLUSION. 255 



CONCLUSION. 



views by the young. Those who have attained 
to some age, from feeling the consequences of 
their own ignorance and errors in the outset of 
life, can give wiser precepts to the young than 
they themselves received when they stepped 
boldly forth, proud in their new-felt freedom 
and power. There will always be some ready to 
listen to and act upon these precepts, and they 
will elevate the standard of right feeling and 
acting in their generation. The greater the 
number of those who act from these wiser pr^ 



CHAPTER XXIII. s 



? 



The reading of a book like this will do a i 

young man but little good, if he throw it down ? 

without seriously reflecting upon its contents. $ 

He must consider the truths it teaches as truths $ 

for his guidance, as well as for the guidance of j, 

others. The views here taken of life are too im- \ 
portant to be lightly passed by. They are of 



vital interest both to the individual and the \ 



community. The elevation and regeneration of <> 

society depend mainly upon the reception of right £ 



256 



ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN. 



U~~^ 



cepts, the more decided will be their influence, <; 

and the higher, in consequence, will rise the j; 

generation to which they belong. Thus will \ 

society advance towards perfection with a slow <j 

but certain progress. < 

From this view every young man can see how J 

great is the responsibility resting upon him as an s 

individual. If he commence with right principles \ 

as his guide, — that is, if in every action he have \ x 

regard to the good of the whole, as well as to his ^ 

own good, — he will not only secure his own well- '} 

being, but aid in the general advancement to- \ 

wards a state of order. But if he disregard all $ 

the precepts of experience and reason, and follow j; 

only the impulses of his appetites and passions, < 

he will retard the general return to true order, \ 

and secure for himself that unhappiness in the |> 

future which is the invariable consequence of ail ■> 

violations of natural or divine laws. \ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 





